


Halloween Healing Ink

by MirandasMadeOfStone



Series: Healing Ink AU [3]
Category: My Mad Fat Diary
Genre: Body Paint, F/M, Halloween, M/M, Painting, Party, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Sexual Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pregnancy, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-14
Updated: 2015-12-22
Packaged: 2018-05-08 17:27:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 25,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5506526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MirandasMadeOfStone/pseuds/MirandasMadeOfStone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>A wee ficlet that has troubled me for a while.</p><p>Thanks to the ever amazing and astute @how-ardently This is now much more how I envisaged it.</p><p>Trigger warnings: Some vague flashes back to past difficult relationships and MH issues.</p><p>Oh did I mention Blanche says this one’s a bit smutty?</p>
    </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A wee ficlet that has troubled me for a while.
> 
> Thanks to the ever amazing and astute @how-ardently This is now much more how I envisaged it.
> 
> Trigger warnings: Some vague flashes back to past difficult relationships and MH issues.
> 
> Oh did I mention Blanche says this one’s a bit smutty?

The morning sunshine is nowhere near as warm as Finn expects. He wraps his red checked scarf a little tighter around his neck as a sharp breeze bites into his skin. Eyes cast to the pavement, he hurries along, trying not to think about writing the letter that Kester suggested. The letter, which he will never post. The letter that, no matter how hard he tries, refuses to leave his thoughts and keeps him awake at night.  
He scrabbles in his pockets for a lighter; his body needing the relief. As he tips his head back to expel the first comforting drag, he notices darker clouds on the horizon and frowns. The light, which dappled his easel so beautifully first thing, seems to be fast waning.  
By the time he arrives at S&N’s, he’s cold through. Hanging his jacket and scarf on the pegs on the back of the office door, he releases a pent up sigh and tenses and flexes the fingers of his tattooing hand several times whilst chewing on the inside of his cheek.  
Functioning almost on auto-pilot, he switches the kettle on and runs a hand through his unruly hair, trying to smooth it down. The drawings for today’s early session are still sitting centre stage on the messy desk, where he left them last night. Picking them up, he can’t help the sense of satisfaction that warms his veins when he considers his artwork. The client had been referred on by Chop, who had only been too relieved to pass the job on. Designing had been a test of patience as much as anything.  
Hearing the water nearing the boil, he goes in search of whoever opened up. The first studio is empty but he finds Mike putting a finishing touch to the front of house: a vase of white of lilies.  
“Fancy a cuppa?”  
“Go on. It’s going to be a long day what with the party tonight.”  
“Tell me about it. Finished late last night.”  
“Did you get that sleeve finished?”  
Finn nods. “Yeah. Turned out fucking well. Took some pics for the portfolio.”  
Mike pats him on the back.  
“How’s the design for the dragon piece going?” Finn asks.  
With a grin on his face, Mike leads them through to his room and opens a leather folio.  
“Jesus. This is mint, mate.” Finn beams. “I have no idea how you do this sort of stuff. Colours are amazing.”  
“Well, I can’t manage any of your complex patterns.” Mike blushes. “Now, did you mention tea?”  
“Aye.” Finn leads the way to the office and makes the tea, following a long held ritual that produces each a cup to their liking.  
“What time you planning on finishing up?”  
“Lunchtime. I want to paint for an hour or so and then Rae’s dragging me out to get something to wear tonight.” Finn grimaces. “You sorted?”  
Mike nods.  “You know how organised Chlo is! Make-up’s going to take a while though.”  
Finn raises his eyebrows as he cups his tea between his hands, allowing its warmth to loosen the still taut muscles in his hands.  
“Act surprised, but we’re going as black tie skeletons. Three piece suit, top hat, cane.” Mike laughs softly.  
“Nice. Fuck knows what we’re going to end up as. I pissing hate dressing up.” Finn’s spits his words out.  
“I’m not sure I can ever remember you getting dressed up. Well, apart from the year you ripped the sleeves off your shirt and decided your ink was enough to scare anyone.”  
A corner of Finn’s mouth curls down in distaste. “That were…” He swallows down the rising bile as the letter menaces once more. He won’t let it get to him. Because it doesn’t matter. Because he’s put it behind him. Because he loves and is loved back. “That were Laura’s idea. I was so hammered that I… that it made sense.” There he’s said it.  
Feeling Mike’s hand on his shoulder, he pauses. “Nah, it’s okay. I’m… you know… The counselling’s helping.” He exhales slowly. “Kester says that I can’t make it go away, but I can change the way it affects me.”  
Mike pulls him in for one of his inimitable bear hugs. “You know, I’m fucking proud of you.”  
Finn cringes inwardly at his own perceived cowardice, yet finds some solace in the unexpected intimacy. He’s first to pull away with a slightly over cheerful, “Right, better get on if we’re going to get away at a reasonable hour.”

Balancing three tins of cupcakes in her arms and crossing the road is not as simple as Rae anticipated. She curses loudly as she nearly trips on an undone lace of her purple converse hi-tops. An elbow is required to ring the doorbell.  
“Oh wow.” Izzy squeals. “What have you made?”  
“A batch of the chocolate Chop loves, lemon for Jim and Archie and some plain with spider icing.” Rae winks, as Izzy helps her carry them through to an already laden dining table.  
It’s only after Izzy has hugged her that Rae fully takes in the changes in Izzy’s appearance that have become significantly more apparent in the last week.  
“You sure you’re ok to host?”  
“Yeah course! Though this will be the last party before this little one’s here.” Izzy replies rubbing her swollen belly softly.  
Rae’s about to ask about the puffy ankles and the way Izzy holds a hand to her lower back when Chloe bursts through the door, carrying a large cardboard box.  
“Right that’s the last of them. Oh-my-god, Rae.” Her voice is a near shriek as she envelops her friend in an embrace.

Pleasantries exchanged, hot chocolate drunk and cakes inspected, Rae fiddles with the radio until she finds something to her satisfaction so that decorating can begin.  
Much laughter ensues as Rae and Chloe try to hang a garland of bright orange pumpkins across the back wall. Rae’s reach being much higher than Chloe’s, they give up and decide that its lop-sidedness will simply add to the intended atmosphere. Chloe refuses to handle the fake cobwebs, leaving Rae and Izzy to untangle the fluffy, yet clingy strands that end up resembling a strange game of cat’s cradle.  
Three banners, several strings of glittery bats and a curtain of skeletons later, the room is barely recognisable. But Chloe’s not finished. She swaps the bulbs in some of the lamps for red and green ones that cast eerie glows in the corners of the room. Food sorted and arranged, the girls decide to slump on the sofa with a drink; tea for Rae, coffee for Chloe and Ribena for Izzy. Rae pulls the coffee table closer so Izzy can put her feet up and Chloe puts a cushion in the small of her friend’s back.  
Izzy helps herself to a handful of brightly coloured Smarties from a bowl and passes them onto Rae with a sigh.  
“You know, everybody tells you how exhausting being pregnant is, but nobody mentions just how much chocolate it makes you want you eat. I’m supposed be eating lots of fruit and veg. Healthy stuff might be good for the baby, but all I want to eat is chocolate, and peanut butter with marmite on toast.”  
Chloe’s face contorts in horror. “Peanut butter WITH marmite.”  
Izzy nods. “It’s so yummy, particularly in the middle of the night. Chop brought me some in bed at 2 o’clock this morning because I was so hungry that I couldn’t sleep.”  
“That’s so sweet.” Rae smiles.  
“Yeah, but peanut butter with marmite?” Chloe’s face is a picture of disbelief.  
Izzy nods. “Trouble was, it just made me crave Mars bars and we didn’t have any in the house. Chop was all up for going down to the garage to get some but I settled for a couple of Milky Ways instead. I’m going to end up the size of a house if I keep eating like this.”  
Rae looks thoughtfully at her normally fizzy friend. She looks a little worn, the sparkle burning less brightly in her eyes.  
“I reckon a little of what you want is good for you.” She responds, taking some sweets from the bowl, putting them in her mouth, allowing them to melt on her tongue.  
Izzy takes the bowl and pops a modest number into her mouth before automatically passing them onto Chloe. Both she and Rae turn, mouths wide open as Chloe shovels a handful into her mouth.  
When she’s finished chomping, Chloe smiles. “Planning a colour scheme for a wedding is unbelievably stressful. I mean you have to take everyone’s complexions into account, you can’t have anything too obvious or anything too trendy because it might date.  And I have to second guess what Mike’s going to be wearing so I can factor that into account.”  
“Can’t you just ask him?” Rae frowns.  
“Duh, yeah.” Chloe responds. “But we’re not getting married for at least another 18 months, I don’t want to seem too keen so that he switches off. I’m just trying to put together a couple of options so I can start building my mood boards.”  
Izzy begins to giggle. “Mood boards?”  
“Yeah. You know, ideas for all the important stuff, dresses, shoes, colours, flowers, cakes, table decorations, favours. Those sort of things.”  
Rae starts to giggle a little and shakes her head. “Bloody hell.  I had no idea that there was so much to think about. There’s no way I could ever… not that Finn and I…” She trails off and blinks. “You’ll get it sorted, Chlo. You’re bloody amazing at organising and planning. You just need to pick somewhere to start. Focus on one thing to start with. Maybe… maybe shoes or something. Just take baby steps.”  
Chloe nods seriously and then a small smile begins to light her face. “Shoes.” She nods again. “Think I can manage shoes.” She takes a few more Smarties, a look of intense concentration on her face.  
“Ooh.” Izzy intonates, sweeping her hand over her belly. “He’s definitely going to be a boy, the way he’s kicking.”  
Rae’s eyes light up as she notices how Izzy’s belly vibrates gently under the thin, stretched floral t-shirt.  
“Do you want to feel him again?” Izzy asks.  
Rae’s enthusiastic nod is rewarded with her hand being placed firmly on her friend’s stomach. “Oh my god. This is just so incredible.” She gushes. “I know I say that every time, but…”  
Chloe’s hand joins Rae’s and the girls sit back and relax, sharing small glances. As the song changes on the radio, Izzy’s face lights up.  
“I’d completely forgotten. I’ve got something to show you girls. A big surprise” She grins.  
Rae frowns and Chloe shrugs in return.  
“Come on. Help me up and I’ll show you.”  
Izzy and Chloe both take an arm as bidden, then follow as Izzy leads the way up the stairs. She pauses at the entrance to Finn’s former room, before biting her lip and smiling.  
“You’re not going to believe this.”  
Opening the door she slowly wanders in, hand resting back on her stomach.  
Rae anticipates what’s coming, grateful for Chloe’s instant cooing and gushing. Trying to prepare herself, her eyes linger on the newly laid beige carpet, before slowly climbing up to the blue gingham curtains. The knot in her stomach tightens as she glimpses the freshly painted chest of drawers, its pale creamy hue hiding the former varnished pine.  
Rae bites down on the inside of her cheek, briefly incapable of raising her eyes to face what she’s aware will be a beautiful piece of art. But it will not be her art. Her memories of this room linger thickly in the air, swirling around in a nebulous mist, blinding her to what she should be seeing.  
It takes Izzy’s soft hand on her arm and ultra-tentative, “Don’t you like it?” to shock her into action. Her head jerks upwards and she reviews the dark blue wall, replete with a starry sky and oversized moon. The scene is set with a number of trees to one side and depicts a number of sleeping animals painted in Chop’s inimitable style.  
Rae swallows. “It’s uh… it’s lovely, Izz. Chop has really done you proud.”  
“Room fit for a prince.” Chloe declares slightly louder than actually needed.  
Chloe begins to chatter incessantly, firing questions at Izzy about Moses baskets, cots and rocking chairs. The change in focus buys Rae the time she needs to attempt to digest, not only the change, but what has been lost to the past.  
She struggles against the emotions that rise and fall in her chest, rationalising that she’s not only being ridiculous and melodramatic, but she’s also being a rubbish and unsupportive friend. Although Finn’s new mural must only be a few hundred yards away, a part of her can’t help but mourn what was. Somehow, she’s aware that there’s more to this insidious feeling than simply painted over declarations of Finn’s deepest feelings.  
“I really like the fox, Izz.” She states as cheerfully as possible. “He’s got such a cute little night cap on.”  
Izzy’s grin lights up the room and thins the air a little, such that Rae feels like she can breathe once more. On the way downstairs, Chloe slings an arm around her shoulder and squeezes it tightly, before putting a CD on, which instantly has the desired effect.  
With a dramatic eye roll, Rae declares. “You cannot be serious, Chlo. Even you must know that the Backstreet Boys are a crime against humanity, let alone music.”  
The room fills with the sound of laughter and Chloe starts to dance enthusiastically. Flicking her hair dramatically over her shoulder, she wiggles around the room.  
“Come on girls. Might as well get in the mood now.”  
Not to be outdone, Rae grabs a giant cut-out cardboard ghost and starts to twirl him around the room, mouthing the words to the song whilst pulling faces.  Yet the delight is but a mask, concealing a ball of contradictory feelings that flutter inside her chest.

Rae wraps her arms around herself as she walks the short distance home, rubbing her arms through Finn’s inadequate striped t-shirt. A distinct chill hangs in the air even though it’s not even 3pm. A breeze whips up the fallen leaves around her feet in a swirl of chestnut, russet and ochre. As her key turns in the lock, she can already make out the strains of Shed Seven’s Chasing Rainbows playing loudly. The sitting room is empty bar the shadows of the swaying trees that dance across the floor in the fading light.  
Finding the air warm and dry, she puts a hand on the radiator to discover that it is on full blast. She curses Finn’s lack of financial consideration and periodically faulty inner thermostat. She has to double check her watch as she has yet to adjust to clocks being back. It may be later than she intended, but there’s still enough time to complete her costume plan in town.  
Wandering upstairs, she peeks into the spare room to catch Finn intensely concentrating on a canvass, paint brush in hand, palette balanced on his bare left forearm. Under the cover of loud music, she walks up softly behind him, wishing to try to gain his perspective on his work. Except he jumps just as she reaches his form.  
“Fuck me.”  His right arm is shaking.  
Even though she knows it’s unfair, she can’t help but laugh. “Did I scare you, Finley?”  
He wraps his right arm diagonally around his waist as his cheeks flush a deep rose. Gazing at his sock clad feet, he pulls an embarrassed grimace before looking back up.  
“I’ll take that as a yes then.” She grins broadly then looks pointedly at her watch. “I think it’s best we take the car, given how late it is.”  
Finn frowns and then his face falls. “Oh shit.” He sighs and opens his mouth and closes it a couple of times. “I… look…” His mouth crumples and the muscles in his neck tense. “Do we have to? I mean couldn’t’ we just…”  
“No.” Rae puts her right foot heavily on the floor. It’s nearly a stomp. Nearly the beginning of a tantrum. “This… tonight means a lot to Izzy. It’s her last night out before the baby and I really think we should make the effort. It’s not as if you haven’t known about this for… for weeks.”  
“Yeah. You’re right. Sorry. I was just.” He puts his palette down.  
Rae walks over and puts a hand on his arm. “Lost in your work?”  
Momentarily, Rae loses herself in the deep chestnut of his eyes as he nods mutely. There’s something unreadable in his expression. She surveys the canvas with its thickly laid abstruse swirls in sunshine yellow and vivid royal blue. Feeling uncomfortable, she takes a step away from the easel.  
“How’s about I make us a quick cuppa, while you get cleaned up? Probably need to put a jumper and shoes on. It’s cold out.”  She bops him on the nose with a forefinger.  
His face lightens and he responds with a grateful smile, but he doesn’t return her affectionate gesture.

When Rae returns with two steaming mugs, Finn’s still deep in contemplation of his creation, brush in hand, brow creased and posture tense. The right sock has rolled half way down his foot such that he’s treading on the roll of it. The seeming lack of concern for the night’s activities, his inability to leave his art, coupled with whatever he appeared to be holding back, irks her tremendously.  
Rae sets the cups down heavily on the table and grabs the paintbrush from a shocked Finn, dunking it heavily in the paint. She glances at it for milliseconds before flicking it enthusiastically at him. The paint’s path of travel is wholly unexpected, as she has not taken into account its viscosity. A reasonable amount hits Finn square on his t-shirt with minimal spray and some ends up in his hair, which will fall like fat little tears down his face. But by far the larger part ends up on the canvas.    
Rae’s eyes widen as Finn turns his back on her. He’s still for what seems like an almost intolerably long time before bending down, ostensibly to pull the slipped sock back on properly. She tips her head back, letting out a shaky breath, embarrassed at the unintended landing site of the paint. When she looks forward again, Rae finds Finn facing her with an arm tucked behind his back.  
“So Mae, you uh… I take it you didn’t like me painting?” He gestures expansively with his free hand towards the easel.  
“I… uh. Yeah, about that…” Rae pauses, finally catching a hint of mischievous grin spreading across Finn’s face.  
She quirks an eyebrow.  
“You know, girl.” Finn takes a long stride, closing the distance between them. His teeth briefly toy impishly with his bottom lip, his eyes ablaze. “Two can play at that game.”  
With that he whips his right hand from behind his back and squirts green poster paint at her. His choice is far better and delivers a large amount of shamrock liquid.  
Rae’s mouth opens wide. She’s staring down at the bright rivulets, when Finn delivers a second shot directly into the side of her hair.  
This rapidly galvanises Rae, who places her fingers in the paint running down her body and flicks them at Finn. He laughs like he was expecting this move, which only causes her blood to run a little hotter. She shoves past him, reaches down to the bottom shelf and grasps the first bottle she can lay her hands on. But she’s not quite quick enough with her fire and only catches Finn’s arm. Worst still, fate has decreed that she picked white.  
So she walks up to him, smiling as sweetly as possible, and runs the fingers of her left hand down his arm, dragging some of the white liquid from his t-shirt over his heavily inked skin. Glancing down, she swallows at the stark, yet dreamlike, contrast it creates.    
She recovers quickly; almost of its own accord, her right arm raises and she squirts paint directly on top of Finn’s head. However, she deposits more than intended and the white fluid runs in rivers down Finn’s face, dripping down onto his chest and the floor. She bites the corner of her lip.  
“Mae.” He warns, daubing her cheek with the acrylic mess still on his fingers, his lips parted. “That wasn’t very nice.”  
Finn musters as deadpan an expression as possible, remaining exceedingly close to her. A short silence is punctuated solely by the sound of their breathing as their eyes lock on one another. All of sudden, he takes a step forward, and retaliates in kind, adorning Rae’s head with the green paint.  
Feeling it drip from her hair onto her chest, another spark ignites in Rae. With the most innocent of smiles on her face, she lips her licks to distract Finn so that she may snatch the bottle he’s holding.  
Her plan works and before he can react, she has sploshed him generously from both bottles.  She runs as quickly as possible across the room. But his strong arms are soon around her waist, trying to wrestle the paint from her grasp. His warm breath tickles her neck as she squirms and squeals playfully.  
A hand snakes up from her waist to her chest, smearing the colours liberally across the fabric in broad, sweeping motions.  She revels in the sensations; his thumb circling her pebbling nipple unintentionally elicits a soft moan from her lips.  
Trying to regain the upper hand, she uses her best teacher’s voice.“Just look at what you’ve done to my t-shirt. Doubt the paint will come out now you’ve rubbed it in.”  
He laughs. “Think you’ll find that’s my t-shirt, Mae. Though it fits you rather too well.” He responds, cupping both her breasts.  
His arms tighten around her until he is pressed firmly against her back. Soft lips begin to kiss her neck and a hand slips under the t-shirt. Correctly figuring out his all too obvious game, she decides not to concede despite the way she tingles in anticipation.  
“I’m not falling for that one, Nelson. Oldest trick in the book.”  
“I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.” His fingers fail to make their way under her bra.  
She snorts a little derisively, which turns into a stifled giggle. “You’re going to have to work a lot harder than that.” She challenges.  
“Yeah?” There’s rebelliousness in his tone.  
All of a sudden he’s twisted her around to face him.  Expecting him to lunge for the paint, Rae cradles both bottles to her chest. Yet Finn remains rocking back and forth on his feet, his eyes glinting, mouth curled to one-side, failing to hide a grin. The charge in the air shifts as he runs his tongue between his slightly parted full lips, never breaking eye contact.  
Rae’s chest heaves against the bottles and she squeezes her legs together as he toys with the bottom of his t-shirt.  
“You want me to take this off?” He asks leaving his mouth open, tongue pushing against the back of his front teeth.  
She assents with a nod, breath hitching in her throat.  
“All in good time, Mae. All in good time.” He winks, and before Rae can express her vexation, the spell appears broken as he looks down.  The splatters of drying paint are hard to ignore against the pale carpet.  
“Shit!” He exclaims. “‘Spose I’d better get a cloth.” He almost manages to look concerned.  
She pouts, disappointed at the uncharacteristic domestic interlude. “Seriously?”  
He sucks in a breath and makes a show of surveying the damage. “It’ll be much harder to get out dry. I mean, it may never come out at all. Carpet could be permanently stained. Fucking hell.” He runs a hand through the back of his hair. “Landlady’s going to do her nut.”  
“I shouldn’t have started it.” She penitently puts the paint on the table and walks to the door, before noticing his poor attempt at stifling a laugh, his body rotated away from hers.  
His full bodied warm laughter soon echoes around the room.  
“Finn.” She tries to slap him playfully on the arm, but he ducks away and hotfoots it towards the far side of the room in a misguided attempt to protect the paint. He stands arms cast to each side, back against table.  
She steps towards him deliberately slowly, places her hands on her hips and rolls her eyes.  
“I think we’ve done enough damage for one day, don’t you?” She provocatively raises an eyebrow.  
He giggles, dropping his arms. “Come here.” He drawls, biting his lip.  
She makes as if she will walk straight into his embrace, but dodges around him at the last second, determined for some revenge and desperate to plaster him with bright colours. She only manages to grab white and yellow before Finn’s arms lift her away and spin her around from behind. Her feet kick out into the air as he cries, “You utter minx.”  
Although he deposits Rae back on her feet, Finn doesn’t let go. His bottom lip drags down her neck towards her shoulder, where his teeth nip at her skin in between soft kisses.  His hands close around hers gently, trying to pry her fingers from the bottles.  
Although Rae lets go of the first, she’s not capitulating over the second, despite the way Finn grinds himself into her bottom while murmuring endearments amidst his continual assault on her sensitive skin with his lips. The blood may be coursing warmer in her veins; the fire well and truly kindled, yet a brief moment’s rationality has her dashing across the room  
Finn’s quick on his feet but is now confronted with the yellow paint, which Rae is clasping pointedly at him between two hands.  
“Mae.” He warns again.  
She smirks at him. “Not another step Nelson.”  
His mouth drops agape, his arms thrown aloft as if in surrender.  
As her hands tighten around the bottle, Finn casts around, fighting the inevitable. But all he can come with is. “Think about the carpet, girl.”  
She sniggers and launches a full blown squeeze of paint at his chest. His reprisal with the white is instant. The continual music is drowned out by screams, squeals and raucous laughter as their game moves around the room, each trying to dodge the brightly coloured sprays. At this rate, it won’t be long until there’s not a single surface unmarked.  
When Finn registers that Portishead is blaring from the stereo, he finally comes back to some sort of logical consciousness and puts his bottle down. Nonetheless, he can’t resist flicking some of the paint running down his body at Rae, who is stubbornly refusing to follow suit.  
As Finn’s hands close around her paint bottle, Rae futilely battles to retain control. In the ensuing tussle, a significant amount of yellow paint is spilt before Rae inadvertently trips, and launches the easel over. She lands with resounding thud on Finn’s painting, but, thankfully, not on the wooden structure.  
“Mae… oh god.” Finn’s concerned gaze is soon on hers as he kneels beside her, rescuing her tenderly from his troubled artwork. “Are you ok?” His pitch rises unevenly as he rests her back down.  
Rae shuts her eyes and swallows. Deep down, humiliation at her own clumsiness prickles a little. Her head may be a little sore but that is not the crux of her consternation.  
A tear trickles down her cheek. “Your painting… I’m so sorry.”  
Finn’s face crumples in confusion, the spark in his eyes extinguished. “My….fuck Mae, you sure you’re ok?”  
She nods mutely as he strokes her hair.  
“You know it were utter bollocks anyway. Think you’ve improved it, girl. It were… something was wrong about it.”  
“But…” She mumbles.  
“It’s ok. It’s… you. You matter to me.”  
Finn kicks the easel away from his feet and lays down next to Rae. Leaning over her prostrate form, he pushes her paint stricken hair from her face and thumb dries the track of her tears.  
“Second time you’ve given me a fright today.” He whispers before placing the fullness of his lips against hers.  
Their kiss is all tentative and delicate; lips sliding with the lightest of touches against each other, noses just about touching. But then her fingers card his hair, pleading for more. He leans over her, weight resting on his forearms, still concerned that she may have done some damage. But as her fingers blindly trail over the markings of his arms, the worry unwinds sufficiently for him to briefly resume their union.  
Nervous that he’s pushing things, and needing to be certain of her wellbeing, Finn helps a slightly hesitant Rae to her feet. He fusses around for a while and smoothes hands down her clothes, checking for lumps and bumps in between bestowing kisses in her hair.  
Finally satisfied, he turns her such that the last evanescent rays of sunlight catch her face. He stops in his tracks. His gaze turns intense, longing and lingering as he studies her as if she were one of his paintings.  
There’s something so unfathomable in his eyes as he runs his fingers down the side of her face that it stills Rae entirely and a deep sense of calm suffuses the room.  
“You’re… you’re so beautiful.” He stutters, tucking some strands of paint sodden hair behind her ear.  
Their eyes meet, hers seeking and his confirming.  His lips open as if he’s about to impart something but they simply form something of a pout as he tilts his head once more, fingers playing with the other side of her hair and trailing over her cheek. Tenderly, he wipes the last of the colour from her face before leaning in and placing his lips against hers, carefully pulling her bottom lip between his.  
He kisses her, his hand still resting against her cheek. She’s wondering whether it’s ever going to progress when his tongue runs the length of her lips before sliding into her mouth. His usual fervour and pace is tempered as he deliberately takes his time in placing a succession of small kisses on her lips, interspersed with pauses where he pulls back to appraise her.  
As dusk descends, the kisses evolve into something more passionate. He nips at her bottom lip whilst his hands find her hips to rhythmically tilt her into him.  
A moan escapes her lips as she feels his hardness. However tempting it is to inject heat and ramp things up, Rae holds back and submits entirely to his blissful, yet frustrating, tempo. As the CD player automatically skips onto Massive Attack, he begins to roll his pelvis exquisitely into hers.  
Running her hands through his hair, the paint doesn’t raise a question as she kisses him back with increasing ardour, pushing her chest firmly against his. Time is forgotten as he dances them around languidly on the spot as the sun sets in oranges and blues in the sky.  
Rae’s the one to break the embrace, resting her forehead against his to indulge in tracing the muted intricate patterns on his arms. He watches, completely absorbed, breath catching in his chest.  
Her lips seek the sweet spot under his ear, which has him groaning and pressing his hips firmly forward. The kisses become more insistent, more teasing and increasingly rapacious. A hand tangles in her hair, before tantalising her with a feather light touch around those areas he has learnt are most responsive.  
Feeling her arch against him, Finn groans into her mouth, which only serves to spur her on further. She nips divinely down his neck and onto the firm muscle of his shoulder, while her fingers run up and down his spine. The sensation is almost too much. Instinct and want to push to the fore. He rocks his pelvis lasciviously into hers whilst his tongue flicks over the seam of her mouth and his fingers run up her inner thigh. Despite the desperate longing building in his lower abdomen and the fire coursing through his veins, it’s not enough. Nowhere near his vision. More than a little reluctantly, he pulls back, his lips lingering on hers until the very last moment.  
Her face may be smeared with paint, her hair sodden and what he can see of her clothes a riot of colour, but Finn believes her ethereally mesmerising, a light to expunge his hidden fears. She has always been the colour to his darkness, the constant to his self-doubt and the song to his heart beat. Perversely, her near unearthly beauty causes a transient fear to flicker through his mind, rendering his heart to beat that little bit faster.  
He stares, almost hypnotised, at the way her large expressive eyes question the change, beguiling him for what she is missing.  On a level that he is not fully aware of, something takes hold, imbuing him with the latent strength he has been seeking and requiring.  
He extends his hands, intertwining their fingers and deftly pulls her into a seated position. Feeling her breath on his face, the temptation to kiss her is excruciating; nevertheless he carefully pulls the t-shirt over her head.  
Her hands intuitively reach to reduce him to the same level of undress, yet he shakes his head, mouthing “trust me,” his eyes firmly affixed to hers. Unclasping her bra without recommencing their kiss or diving into to taste her skin proves more testing that Finn anticipated. His breathing has become shallow, his heart thudding in his chest.  
He can’t resist running a thumb down the inside of her legs as he removes her jeans and is rewarded with quiver in her limbs and a groan that verges on the forlorn. So his fingers retrace that same path on the way to removing her knickers; his little finger flicking tantalisingly across the damp fabric before pulling them down.  
The pent up lust inside Rae cannot be contained any longer and she pulls him in, desperate to feel his lips on hers, his tongue in her mouth and his body on hers once more. But all she receives is a small peck before he carefully removes her hands from his hair.  She pouts petulantly as he crawls across the floor.  
A replacement canvass is easy to locate, but he needs time to be comfortable with colour selection; emerald green, orange and russet red. Smiling, he squirts his choices generously onto the stretched white fabric.  
With artistic precision, he lays her down onto the canvas, placing a hand behind her head. His face creases into a frown. He repositions her slightly to the left but becomes distracted by the contrast of her creamy skin and the vivacious colours that surround her. A kiss dropped on one shoulder quickly becomes a line across her chest to her other shoulder. A cursory touch of her skin becomes a full blown exploration. Before he knows what he’s doing, he finds himself pressing her hard against the canvass, kissing her with raw desire and searing need.  
Her tug at his t-shirt brings proceedings to a grinding halt. Hauling himself back onto his heels, he blinks repeatedly and bites his lip. She tugs again. He’s not ready. Instead, he flips her onto her stomach, pressing her breasts against the canvas and positioning her arms on either side of her head.  
Bending his head low and laying his arm over hers and linking their fingers, he whispers against her ear, “Just tell me if you don’t like it, if it’s too much or just…”  
His massage starts at her feet, his paint covered hands leaving strange patterns on the soft skin of her legs. He continues in delight at the way she keens as he switches to the soft curves of her hips and sides. By the time his fingers are supplely working her inner thigh, Rae is whimpering and begging for more. He’s about to disappear to the bathroom to wash his fingers when she seemingly reads his thoughts.  
“I… I want you, Finn.”  
“You..?” He stammers, biting his lip until his brain finally processes her simple request.  
His jeans and boxers are rapidly cast aside because he’s wound himself into a near impossible state where resistance is futile. It’s only after he’s rolled the condom on that he remembers to remove his t-shirt, viscerally needing to feel her skin against his and yearning for some of the paint on her back to transfer to him.  
He’s careful to start with, ensuring he’s supporting his own weight on his arms, nervous that the edge of the canvass might get pressed harshly into her soft curves. Every thrust is delectably slow and he begins to groan as sparks begin to explode under his skin. She begins to wriggle and exhale noises that spur him on until he realises a change of angle is what is required to set her loose. Carefully bending her leg to one side, he lifts her pelvis up and tilts his hips. His body melds to her back as manages to take her fingers in his in the acrylic maelstrom.  
Rae can’t even register what’s happening as Finn snakes his hips into her hers, emitting a series of breathless grunts. When he starts to mutter a mixture of profanities and lustful endearments in her ear, she finally loses herself to the flashes of colour that explode behind her eyelids. Screaming through a prolonged release, her fingers release his, raking through the thick paint on the canvass, scoring deep trails.  
Finn takes care to ensure her head remains to one side while she recovers her breath. Almost gingerly, he raises Rae to a sitting position, a little embarrassed, yet still very aroused. He chews the inside of his cheek when she turns to look at him, face smothered in paint that clogs her hair and adorns her body.  
He’s fumbling for some baby wipes, when her fingers reach out for his chest. He looks down his own torso, observing how the autumnal shades have morphed into a galaxy on his skin, partially obscuring his extensive, intricate abdominal tattoo. Yet Rae expertly traces its lines thoughtfully with two fingers.  
She purses her lips, feeling the hard contours of his body against her fingers, delighting in the rare of event of seeing him in colour rather than the sepia tones he likes to hide behind.  She loves the way his stomach muscles flutter under the touch and the short choked sounds that seem to be escaping him involuntarily. Revelling in the riot of colour that swathes him, an idea pops into her mind.  
Slowly, she gets to her feet, instantly locates the baby wipes Finn couldn’t find and wanders to the book shelf leaving Finn mystified on the floor.  
His eyes widen in shock as she cleans her hands and points a camera at him.  
“Mae.” He growls.  
“What Finley?”  
“I… me… you can’t… I mean…”  
Much as she wants all of him in her pictures, the way Finn clutches a t-shirt over his stomach indicates trepidation. She smiles soothingly promising to simply capture his gaudy adornment but his poses are stiff and forced, with a smile that barely reaches the corners of his lips. Her initial giggles soon dissipate into the ever cooling air as she identifies a thinly disguised reluctance, which she surmises most likely stems from shyness and his still evolving relationship with his own body.  
Passing him the camera, she watches his face drop in relief as he puts it to one side. In the shadows cast by the lamp that now lies adrift on the floor, he sits in uncertainty before her.  Her palm tests the thick stubble on his cheek before wrapping around the back of his neck. Her lips provide the succour he longs for in a succession of lingering, ardent kisses.  
Her hand runs over the firmness of his chest as she leans her forehead against his.  
“You are so beautiful, Finn.” She echoes his earlier words. “But it’s not just about our bodies. You… you have a beautiful heart, a beautiful soul. And I love you so very much.”  
His cheeks radiate the heat of a blush that her fingers are drawn to.  
Her first kiss is intended as an expression of devotion and adoration but it’s as if confidence transfers from her lips to his. Almost instantly he’s reciprocating fervently. She means to pause and say more but her words are lost to his divine lips. Sensing his impatience for the inexorable conclusion of events, she sinks her teeth softly into his bottom lip and pulls at it, causing him to gasp.  
The embers of the earlier fire are stoked once more as she runs her hands up his thighs, his stomach and his chest, and down his arms. Tracing nonsense words on one bicep, another hand flat on his chest, Rae hears Finn swallow thickly. His tongue dances with hers in messy kisses, his hand tangled in her hair.  
She covers him in imaginary words until she inevitably reaches his lower abdomen, such that he growls and presses himself into her hand. She strokes him until it’s more than he can take and he skilfully positions himself between her legs. Finn’s rhythm continually ebbs and flows until he rocks his pelvis in bridged triplets along with the music still playing. The power of his movement knocks the wind from her lungs such that she gasps breathily and pulls him tighter.  
Their shared nirvana may be longer in arriving than usual, but it’s no less powerful or sating. It leaves them in a technicolour, entwined heap, breathing heavily on the floor. In the tranquil interlude, Finn recognises there are things he has to say. Sentences form, disintegrate and reform in his head.    
He’s on the verge of giving his worries voice, when the CD player skips to The Beastie Boys.  
“Oh shit.” Rae exclaims. “Fuckity fuck, fuck, fuck.” She looks at her watch.  
“The party.”  
Expecting her diatribe about their failure to buy costumes, instead he hears her sigh and turn to sweep his fringe out of his eyes.  
“The… the costumes…” He mutters hesitantly.  
“Finn.” Her tone is soft, yet serious. “The music…” She trails off. “It’s on shuffle.”  
He frowns and his mouth quirks to one side.  
“Yeah… ’spose I couldn’t find anything I really wanted to listen to, anything that were right for that painting.”  
“Oh.” She wants to probe a little deeper but he’s already on his feet, hunting for his cigarettes and she understands, that for now, the matter is closed.  
He pulls his boxers on, opens the window and lights up.  
“I’m really sorry Mae, think we might be too late for the shops now. I reckon we might be able to cut up some sheets and go as dirty grey ghosts or something.”  
She crawls over to inspect the artwork he created using her body. “Definitely worth it though.” She giggles. “Though I’m not sure I want anyone else seeing this.”  
Turning his head, his face brightens with a wide smile.  
“Yeah, that one’s definitely just for you and me girl. I love the lines you clawed into it when you were screaming me name.”  
A rosy tone spreads through her cheeks and down her neck. The memory hangs warmly in the hair as they share small glances and smiles while he smokes.  
Getting down from the windowsill, he picks up his jeans. “Do you want first go in the shower while I have a scout around for the sheets? Think there may be some dustsheets in the garage we could use?”  
Rae watches thoughtfully as Finn gathers his clothes  
“Neither of us is going to have a shower, Finn.”  
He pauses, one arm inside the T-shirt he’s about to pull over his head.  
She chuckles. “But we might need something from the fridge.”

Carved pumpkins bearing candles, light the last few feet of their way. Almost as soon as Rae knocks on the door, it’s pulled open.  
“Evening, Chopper.” Rae cries, throwing her arms around him.  
“It’s Count Chopper.” His broad grin looks a little incongruous against the sharp pointed teeth and trails of fake blood running down his chin.  
Rae rolls her eyes, turning to see Finn making a show of patting his leather jacket down.  
“I think I’ve left my wallet at home.  I’ll just nip back.” His back is turned almost before the words have finished leaving his mouth.  
Rae enters the familiar house to find a party in full swing; music is blaring, the table is laden with food and the room is filled with animated conversation and laughter.  
“Can I get you a cocktail; howlin’ wolf, bloody Mary, or my favourite, the floating eyeball?” Chop beams.  
“Err.” Rae pulls a face, her nose scrunches up. “Could I have just have a snakebite and black, please barman?”  
“Your wish is my command.”  
A few minutes later, Rae loads up a plate with pizza, crisps and cocktail sausages. Perching on an arm of a sofa, she smiles at Izzy who is lying in state while Chop brings her food. Her long billowy white dress ties in under her bust, highlighting her bump. Her flame red hair lies in loose curls over her shoulders. Without the make-up and the blood stains on the dress, she could be getting married.  
“Loving the dress, Izz.”  
“Thanks. Not sure about the make-up though. Think I look ill.”  
“Nah, you look beautiful. It’s a great dress.” Rae puts a sausage in her mouth, glances down at her own attire and feels a little underdressed, not very feminine.  
Her thoughts are exacerbated as Chloe joins them. Her strapless black dress is exceptionally short showing off the skeleton tights to their fullest. Hair piled high in a bun reveals intricate black and white make-up.  
“Jesus Chlo, you actually look bloody sinister.”  
Chloe giggles. “That was the idea! If I didn’t know Mike, I’d think he was truly terrifying. He had so much fun putting our whole look together, you know as a couple. He did all the make-up, even the mascara and the rouge noir nails.”  
As if on cue, Mike sits on the chair next to them, resplendent in a black three piece suit, velvet top hat and carrying a cane. His only visible tattoos are those on his neck, his make-up blended in seamlessly around his beard and moustache.  
“How you doing, petal?” He leans over and kisses Rae on the cheek. “Roses album cover, right?”  
Rae laughs and nods. “Inspired by Jackson Pollock.”  
“I take it you and Nelson will make a matching pair?”  
Mike’s astute observation makes Rae blush unnecessarily and she drops her head low, avoiding eye contact.  
“Speak of the devil.” Mike chortles as Finn waltzes in, lackadaisically chucking his jacket over the bottom banister.  
Greeting everyone by waving general hello, Finn enthusiastically steals a slice of pizza from Rae’s plate.  
A little annoyed, as she had no intention of getting up to get more food, Rae’s face quirks into a slight sneer as she pops another sausage in her mouth, watching as Finn follows Mike into the kitchen to get himself a beer.  
The two are chatting animatedly, laughing before entering what appears to be a display of mutual costume admiration. Finn tries on Mike’s hat, while Mike inspects the slices of lemon as they dance around each other. Rae expects them to return as soon as they have drinks in their hand. Instead, they remain at a distance, deep in a pantomime of a discussion. She can hear Finn’s laughter.  
“Hey you. Love the outfit.” Archie squats down next to her, attired in a toga, a laurel crown and with a knife sticking out of his back.  
“Yours is a cracker Archibald.” She teases.  
“Can I get you another one?” He gesticulates at her glass.  
“Maybe in a moment.”  
Her answer is all it takes for Archie to steer her off to sit between him and Jim. They make for a formidable double act: regaling tales of their last holiday and bringing up a litany of literary references. She’s grateful that neither asks her the question that must be on their lips, and soon, thoughts of it whittle away until she’s enjoying herself again.  
An hour later, Chop hasn’t managed to sell many of his cocktails, but most of the beer has been drunk and the vast spread of food has been somewhat depleted.  Sitting down on the chair, Rae starts to chug back her second snakebite, wishing to make up for lost time. The chair shifts a little as Finn plonks himself down on the arm.  
“You on it tonight, girl?”  
“Might be.”  
“Oh so it’s going to be like that, then?” His smile lights up his face as he runs his finger down her cheek. He’s leaning in, eyes making contact with hers when the tone of her words stop him.  
“Finn.” His hand curls round the back of her neck, closing off the rest of the room.  
“Would you like it better if… I mean, perhaps I should have worn a dress.”  
He blinks. His tongue moistens his dry lips before his top teeth catch the corner of his bottom lip.  
“Don’t think Brown and Squire were much into dresses.” He whispers. “Though I reckon Reni might of looked ok in one.” He purses his lips.  
A small snort escapes her lips.  
“You know.” He raises his eyebrows. “Your outfit takes some beating girl. You know damn well how much I like my art work and my music.”  
Rae smiles and his hand tangles in her hair and their noses meet.  
“But that’s not what it’s really about, and you know it, Mae.”  
She swallows as his lips brush hers.  
“It’s about how that costume was created. All the… the love that went into making that.”  
She giggles. “So cheesy, Nelson.”  
“Oi you.” He pulls her back to bop her on the nose before pulling her into a hug.  
“Your body makes the greatest canvas.” His breath is hot against her ear. “Just thinking about earlier…” He stops, leaving Rae bewildered.  
One of his hands is still around the back of her neck. It’s the way he is slowly inhaling and exhaling and the heat coming from his cheeks that hints at his predicament.  
“Finn.” Rae places her lips on the warm sensitive spot below his ear. She senses, rather than hears, him swallow. She’s nipping down towards the hollow of this throat, when he pulls away, staring at the ceiling, hands hanging by his side.  
“Want to sit on my lap?” She smirks.  
“Fuck’s sake.” He snorts and grins.  
“Think about doing the hovering.” Rae’s voice is far louder than intended and Izzy and Chop look over.“  
“I need a smoke.” And with that, Finn is out of the front door.

By the time he returns, Rae and Izzy are tucking into bowls of profiteroles, eyes fixed to the second sofa. Finn follows their gaze; Jim is feeding Archie a toffee apple in between teasing kisses.  
“They make such a great couple.” Chloe picks a profiterole off Izzy’s pile and pops it in her mouth.  
“I’ve never seen him this happy or relaxed.” Finn remarks, slinging an arm around Rae’s shoulder.  
Izzy murmurs “Oh my god” as Jim ends up lying on Archie in a kiss that never breaks.  
All eyes are still focussed on the couple when Chop loudly clears his throat.  
“Right people, announcement time.”  
He has to repeat himself several times to break-up the make-out session and gain the attention of Mike, who was washing up in the kitchen.  
“So we all know we going to Jinx’s tonight for their Halloween bash? Well, you’ll never guess who is going to be joining us! It’s going to be abso-fucking-lutely mint. “  
The room falls into unnatural silence. Rae glimpses Izzy looking confused.  
Holding court, Chop looks around the room, enjoying his centre stage. “None other my brother Charlie and his mates. It’s going to be fucking wild!”  
Rae’s hand is on Izzy’s arm before she knows it. Both Mike and Finn are glaring at Chop and Jim and Archie look distinctly unimpressed.  
“Chop.” It’s absolutely silent as Izzy speaks.“How long has Charlie been back in Lincoln?”  
Chop’s face falls as something of his error begins to seep in. “Err, well a couple of weeks. But I only spoke to him a couple of days ago…” He pauses, feeling the eyes of the room still upon him.  
He holds his hands up in contrition. “I didn’t invite him here… we’re just meeting up at the club.”  
“Right.” Izzy’s tone is clipped and curt.  
“I mean, how much damage can he do there?”  
A shiver runs through Rae and she leans her head into Finn’s shoulder, breathing in some of his inimitable musk.  
“I… you’re unbelievable Chop.” Izzy flounces off upstairs  
“I’ll go.” Chloe’s nimble to her feet but Finn’s arm catches hers. “Give her a minute, yeah?”  
Chop’s face betrays a fusion of confusion, frustration and self-denigration. “I… I just wanted one last blow-out before the little one’s here.”  
“But Charlie?” Jim begins. “You know how Izz feels about him. She’s eight months pregnant for Christ’s sake.”  
Chop paces back and forth across the room. “Shit. I’m being a grade A twat. I’d better go and…”  
But Finn’s on his feet. “Tidy up down here. Let me have a minute with her.”  
Chop hesitates, momentarily caught in prevarication, before nodding.  
The wind makes for a bitingly cold walk towards the club. Mike and Chloe lead the way followed by Chop, an arm tightly around Izzy’s waist. Rae stares thoughtfully at the way Jim’s unruly curls set off his werewolf outfit as Finn smokes next to her.  
“How do ‘you do it?” She finally enquires.  
“Huh?” His voice rough from a cough.  
She nods towards their friends, listening to Izzy’s laugh echoing in the darkness.  
“Oh I… uh. I kind of promised that I wouldn’t drink anymore. You know stay sober enough to make sure that Charlie doesn’t go back to theirs. No wild after club parties, that sort o’ thing.”  
She frowns and turns her head to catch Finn’s full lips around the white cigarette. His cheeks suck in and hollow as he takes a drag. Whispy tendrils curl from his mouth before he draws them back, inhaling deeply. His lips form a near pout as he exhales, which almost compels Rae to reach out and touch them weren’t it for the lone white plume expelled into the caliginous night.  
“You… you don’t mind, do you?” He stumbles a little. “I mean, me not being on it tonight?” He doesn’t tell her that it doesn’t matter to him. It fits in with his plan and gives him the perfect excuse.  
She shakes her head. “I… I think it was really kind of you. Really sweet.”  
He laughs softly and is about to make some comment when they turn left instead of right.  
“We’re going the wrong way.” Rae shouts.  
“No, we’re not. It’s cold out and we’re running late.” Chop relies chirpily.  
“You sure?” Archie asks.  
“Yeah yeah trust me.” Chop responds.  
A couple of hundred yards down the road and all Rae can see is the huge iron railings that surround the cemetery. They walk along these and take a right, down a small driveway that seems to lead to a semi-detached cottage.  
Rae’s quickly helped through the gap left by a highly misshapen bar and finds herself surrounded by gravestones, tombs and sepulchres.  
Chop turns to face the group. “Just call me king fucking short-cut.” He laughs with a toothy grin.  
Rae looks at the way the wind chases the clouds portentously over the moon and shivers and holds onto Finn that little bit tighter.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to the amazing, talented and inspiring @how-ardently, I have finally finished this fic. It wasn’t easy. Without her, I couldn’t have completed it. It felt like I was writing myself into ever-decreasing circles.
> 
> So the warnings - there is mention of past abuse in relationships here - nothing graphic but it’s the current day effect of that on characters.

The continual thud of the bassline seems to reverberate through her whole body to her spine, making it ache exhaustingly. Izzy rubs her lower back and waddles as gracefully as she can towards the seats. Sitting down heavily on the metal framed sofa, she wishes they had gone to their usual haunt with its tatty but comfortable chesterfields.

Closing her eyes for a second, she takes a deep breath, willing some of her energy to return. She sighs and finds her cousin Jim sitting next to her.

“Ok?” He asks placing a hand on her shoulder.

She nods. “Think so. I’m just a bit sore. It’s probably all the dancing.”

“It’s not as if you were holding back, lovely.”

“Neither were you, Jimmy! Thought you were about to snog Archie’s face off for a moment.”

His face falls a little. “Would be nice. But not here. I don’t think… I mean…”

Izzy’s brows knit together in furious concentration. “But surely. I mean, this is the 21st Century?”

The wry smile on Jim’s lips and his single raised eyebrow provide an answer before he even opens his mouth. “People still seem to be offended by us ‘gays.’”

“But that’s not right. It’s their problem, not yours.”

“You’d think so. But it’s not worth the hassle.” Jim raises his feet on the table. “It’s more widespread than you think. Even tonight… no, I’ve said too much.” He trails off. “Can I get you a drink, some crisps perhaps?”

“Jim.” Izzy’s tone is uncharacteristically stern, yet somehow she maintains her usual gentle overtone. “What were you going to say?”

He shakes his wild curls, rising to his feet. “It’s nothing. Orange juice good, or lemonade? Not sure there’s much choice here.”

“Jim!” She implores.

He flops back on the sofa, berating himself for not being able to conceal his emotions that bit better. But their friendship has endured as long as they both can remember and has little scope for hiding away or benign white lies.

“It’s Charlie’s mates. I think they, err… they mightn’t approve.”

A loud pent up breath escapes Izzy’s carmine lips as she tips her head back in exasperation. “Wouldn’t surprise me. Those boneheads he hangs around with haven’t a brain between them. Don’t you worry about them. Let’s just try and have a good night and forget about them.”

Jim nods thoughtfully. His lips part in question but his words are interrupted by an ebullient Charlie, leaping over the back of the sofa.

“Hello people.” He throws an arm around each of their shoulders. “Havin’ a good time, yeah? You should come and join us, we should all be on that dance floor together.”

Izzy’s eyes close once more.

“Give her a minute, mate.” Jim begins as lightly as possible. “Remember she’s 8 months pregnant.”

“Oh yeah! Soz Isabella. Always forgetting about your predicament.”

Izzy’s face reddens as if it’s been slapped.

“I mean, it were a bit of a surprise to find out when you’d already been up the duff for six months. I err…. Hadn’t seen much of Chop around that time.” He back peddles frantically. “You’re a top bird. Couldn’t be happier for the pair of you.” He pats her clumsily on the arm.

Charlie’s toothy grin is remarkably similar to Chop’s, but his eyes are a steely grey, nothing like Chop’s cerulean blue. Tonight they seem that much darker, set off by his deep charcoal coloured zombie outfit, complete with fluttering bloodied bandages.

“So err… beer for you Jim and a coke for you, my lady?”

“I’ll have an orange juice actually. Thanks Charlie. Oh and can you see if they have any salt and vinegar crisps?”

The cousins watch as Charlie saunters towards the bar and is quickly leapt upon by his mates, who crash into him, shouting and cursing jovially.

“He’s umm. He’s quite outspoken.” Jim sounds tentative.

“He’s a twat.” Izzy proclaims, shocking Jim with her acerbic description.

It’s soon forgotten as Rae and Chloe join them in high spirits, fresh off the dancefloor.

“Alright… alright I have to admit that tune wasn’t half bad. But I’m not changing my mind. Guns N’s Roses are shite.”

“Really!” Chloe rolls her eyes, hands on her hips. “I’m sure that’s not the first time you’ve danced to ‘Welcome to the Jungle’. In fact, I’m sure that one of my parties…”

“Noooo.” Rae’s throws her arm into the air. “I am sure you must be imagining it. You probably had far too much to drink and mistook someone else for me.” Rae’s melodramatic presentation has the intended effect of copious laughter and a chorus of giggles.

When Charlie and his crew reappear with drinks, Rae’s quick to snatch a couple off one of the lads. Was it Baz or Daz?

“Hey Raymund. Those were mine.”

“Sure you can manage to get a couple more from the bar. Us girls are parched!”

His acne-scarred face drops into a sneer as he raises the eyebrow with a barbell at one end. “Girls?” He snorts derisively leering at her.

Charlie may be quick to elbow him, but his tainted exclamation hangs thickly in the air, long after the lads have disappeared back to the bar and Chloe fills the space with inane chatter.

It’s Jim that finally distracts them. “Bloody hell.” He exclaims a little loudly, tugging at Izzy’s sleeve.

The trio of girls follow the trajectory of his gaze to find Chop, Mike, Finn and Archie dancing as a group with irrepressible energy. Chop is bouncing on his feet at one end, a shoulder around Archie, who is laughing into his friends neck and clinging onto Finn, whose arm is around Mike’s waist. As the line shifts into a circle, Mike and Chop crash into each other and start to play wrestle. Finn steals Mike’s top hat, balancing it lopsidedly atop his own head before throwing his arms around Archie and twirling the pair around. As the pair collide with their other friends, partners are swapped and their crazy exhibition continues, drawing quite the crowd of bemused and interested onlookers.

“Oh my god.” Chloe squeals. “Should I go and rescue Mike?”

“He’s having fun Chlo. He’ll be fine.” Izzy tries to reassure her as Archie has Mike in some sort of fake head lock, while Chop pretend spanks him with the cane. “I wonder how much Chop has had to drink though.”

Jim laughs. “Not as much as Archie.” He observes as his partner stumbles onto the floor only to be quickly retrieved by Chop, leaving the pair swaying together.

Rae throws an arm above her head and downs a fair amount of beer, enjoying the spectacle and relishing the way Finn moves his body so freely. His eyes are half shut but the smile that radiates from his face reaches her as she leans her head into the squishy sofa. No trace of the inherent tension she’d discovered when she had brought the camera out is visible. There’s no façade to his happiness and no carefully managed control.

Rae’s so absorbed and relived by the sight of a seemingly relaxed Finn on the loose, that she absentmindedly lifts the hem of her t-shirt to scratch an itch on her midriff.

“Oh Rae. You’ve got paint all over your skin.” Izzy observes. “Must have run when you got hot on the dancefloor.”

Jim’s eyes flick up to meet Izzy’s but it’s Chloe who puts her foot in it.

“How on earth have you got more paint inside your top than outside it?”

Rae’s feels the heat of the scarlet blush searing her skin. “I err…” She stutters badly. “It’s uhh.”

Chloe’s eyes are still intently fixed on hers, when Jim calmly and astutely states. “I’d say she and Finn were doing a bit of painting earlier.”

The girl’s eyes follow Jim’s back to the dancefloor, where Archie has timely caught a wriggling Finn by the t-shirt, displaying the trails and swirls of paint on his skin.

“Were you painting the kitchen in the nude or something?” Izzy asks bluntly.

Chloe’s hissed Izzy is so loud and unsubtle that even Rae begins to laugh. “Umm no. Not the kitchen, Izz.”

“So you were doing the bathroom. Thought you were leaving that until you’d saved enough for a new suite.”

“I don’t think they were painting the walls.” Jim says quietly, unable to stop smirking.

“But…..oh.” Izzy claps a hand over her mouth. “You mean?”

“We uh…. We had a bit of a paint war.” Rae tries to keep a straight face.

“Didn’t you make a massive mess though?” Chloe’s face drops.

“Well yeah. But it was so worth it.” Realising that she has said more than she ever intended, Rae grasps her beer bottle and chugs down the remaining lukewarm liquid.

She drops her eyes to her converse, pretends to do up a lace, willing the conversation to move on.

Thankfully it’s not long before Chloe is back onto her latest pet subject: weddings.

Some ten minutes later, when Chloe has accompanied Izzy to the loo, Jim shuffles along until he’s able to whisper in Rae’s ear.

“This, erm, art thing.”

Rae doesn’t know quite where to look, her mind continually second guessing alternatives about what Jim may be asking.

“You see I… uh… I’ve been thinking about…” Jim pauses and looks at Rae. “Rae, I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. So please stop me if I cross any sort of line.”

Rae’s eyes grow wider as she swallows softly and shakes her head. “No, no it’s fine. You ask away.”

A small but nervous smile adorns Jim’s lips. “It’s just I think, well, art is the medium Finn chooses to express his feelings.”

Rae’s nod is filled with relief as this does not appear to be going the route she anticipated.

“And I, well, for me it’s music. You see, I’ve been composing something for a while. Weeks, months actually. I suppose I work on it whenever it feels right. And it’s for, it’s about Archie, what I feel about him. But…” He grimaces slightly in contemplation. “I’m just not sure. I’m really nervous about what Archie might think. I know he likes music. But this, it’s very much classical and quite avant-garde and…” He shrugs when the words elude him.

Rae takes a breath. “You know that art’s not really my thing either. But that doesn’t stop me loving Finn’s work. I don’t always understand it, or even know what I’m supposed be appreciating sometimes. But there’s so much of him in it. It’s so filled with passion and energy and…” She pauses and adds quietly, “And love.”

This simple acknowledgement instils the confidence she needs to discuss such a private matter. “Even if some of the finer points pass me by, I can always find Finn’s feelings in his work. Sometimes it’s a vaguer thing – whether it’s a happy or sad. But sometimes, I could almost write an essay about what he was feeling when he was painting.

When he paints for me, it’s simply incredible. It’s such an honour, a privilege. It’s like he’s not only shown, but given me a part of him when he paints for me.” A sigh escapes her lips as her face lights up. “You have to share your work with Archie. I know he won’t be bored, he’ll adore it. And I bet he’ll want to learn more and understand the process of its creation.”

Jim’s face breaks into an uneasy smile, so Rae takes his hand in hers.

“I know it must be terrifying to open up your soul like that. But Archie’s absolutely gone for you. You know he loves you. There’s nothing to be afraid of.”

Jim squeezes her hand in return. “I know I’m just being silly. It’s not as if I haven’t sent off tapes here there and everywhere. It’s not as if I haven’t received hundreds of rejection letters. And I know he loves me. It’s just this is such a personal piece. But I do really want to share it with him.” He puts an arm around Rae’s shoulder and kisses her on the cheek. “Thanks for listening, pet.”

“S’nothing.” She replies in a quiet voice, her mind wandering through a mental gallery of the history of her relationship with Finn, expressed through his artwork. She can’t help but question what the experience must have been like for him. She’s so lost in her search for clues that she’s nigh on oblivious when Chloe sits down and whispers softly into her ear.

“When did that happen?”

Rae spies Mike, Chop and Archie dancing circles around Finn, who’s holding his friend’s jacket and cane, the top hat still perched on his head. Chop’s laughing and leaping around, thick glasses on his face, his right arm draped loosely over Archie’s shoulder. Archie appears to be singing, eyes screwed shut. Periodically he trips over his own feet and is hauled back by his dancing partner. But it’s Mike who’s the locus of their attention; his hips gyrate outrageously, his arms are cast aloft tattoos spilling out from rolled up cuffs, his bow tie dangling loose around the open collar of his shirt.

“He really can move.” Rae laughs.

“Yeah, he absolutely knows how to work it!” Chloe’s mouth scrunches to one side and her eyes glaze over, lost in some private recollection.

Feeling that any further conversation would comprise painfully pointless banter or an intrusion, Rae averts her gaze, contemplating Finn’s relative sobriety. Despite his promise to Izzy, she had expected him to have drunk a little more, to have loosened up further, to have participated more actively with his friends. Maybe it was just that the others were exceptionally pissed, and Finn was having one of his slightly self-aware days. He would never naturally push himself to be centre of attention. Yet tonight, somehow the difference was magnified, he seemed a little different. A little reduced.

It’s not long before she’s joined him on the dancefloor, sweeping him into her arms to dance slowly together in stark contrast to the booming music. Nonetheless, Chop and Izzy follow suit; Izzy laying her head on Chop’s shoulder, eyes closing.

An hour has passed, and the group are all a little worse for wear, thanks to the apparently constant supply of beer provided by Charlie and his mates. For the first time either Chloe or Rae can recall, Mike appears quite unsteady on his feet, but this is insignificant when compared to Archie. Her dear friend has lost his laurel crown and the knife from his back and is stumbling with every step. His loud, out of tune singing is accompanied by dramatic arm gestures and facial expressions as if he were in the black and white movies.

All of this proves mere distraction; for as soon as Rae glimpses Izzy’s deathly pallor and the way she rubs at her back, she understands that someone has to take control. Rounding up her charges is far more troublesome than she imagined as the alcohol still courses freely through her own blood, warming it and rendering her thoughts muzzy and her actions a little uncoordinated.

The friends spill out onto the pavement in a an assortment of pairs and singles, the group forming, splitting and reforming as people wander off towards the taxi queue and the burger van.

“Think we might need to get you a taxi, baby girl.” Chop pulls Izzy against him.

“The queue’s too long, Chop. I just want to go home.” Izzy’s voice is unusually quiet and worn.

“It’s quite a walk, sweetheart. And you’re tired. You could sit on my coat while we wait.”

Izzy groans. “Can’t we take the short-cut back? It didn’t take us that long to get here.”

For once, Chop falls silent.

“I’m… it’s Halloween. I’m not sure I want to be walking through a graveyard.”

“For crying out loud. It’s a cemetery. It might be Halloween. But you know ghosts and stuff aren’t real.” Izzy’s reached the end of her tether.

“Chop believes in ghosties and ghouls. Don’t ya, bro!” Charlie teases. “He was a real wuss when it came it comes to that sort of thing. When we were kids he always made mum check under our beds every single night.”

“Don’t forget the time he pissed himself when we were camping - your dad crept out in the middle of the night to check on us and you told him it was a wolf.” Daz jokes.

“Fuck off.” Chop shoves Daz.

There’s a small play scuffle and switching around of bodies.

“Where’s Archer?” Mike’s voice booms out into the night.

“He was here a minute ago.” Chloe twists around to double check he’s not lurking or collapsed in heap somewhere.

The conversation soon turns and all eyes are seeking out an inebriated toga clad figure as bodies stream out of the club. In the ensuing confusion, Charlie and his mates vanish.

“Chop, shall we go ahead and you catch us up?” Chloe asks. “We really need to get Izz back.”

Chop’s at his girlfriend’s side in an instant. “What do’you want to do?”

“I’ll go with Chloe and Rae. I expect Archie’s gone to the toilet. He’s drunk so much.”

“Hum.” Chop looks unsure. “Ok, but you’re taking Jim with you, right?”

Izzy looks thankful as Jim loops an arm through hers and they set off slowly through the gathered and milling bodies and into the bitingly cold night.

The wind howls and whistles through the trees as the four walk along, arm in arm, down the central path of the cemetery.  Dark fallen leaves are picked and flung around by violent gusts. Some of these hit Rae in the face along with ends of her damp long hair. She has to free an arm to scrape it away from her eyes where it scratches and irritates.

“Fucks’s sake.” She curses as more hair is flung forward as soon as she has pushed the first strands away.

“That’s going to be a right birds nest tomorrow, Rae. Do you want one of my hair bands?” Chloe asks, rummaging in her bag.

“Nah, ’s bit a late now. It’s Halloween, after all. Finn’ll just have to put up with me looking a fright.” The hint of joviality is whipped away as soon as it leaves her lips. Rae shivers and looks up to the sky to find a dense mass of clouds fleetingly masking the moon before the squalling wind whisks them on.

“Did you hear that?” Chloe’s grasps her arm almost too firmly.

“What?” Rae has to raise her voice.

“I… Must be the wind.” Chloe replies, but doesn’t let go.

They only manage a few more paces before Chloe freezes on the spot, Rae’s arm unintentionally pulling free as she strides on.

“You must have heard that.” Chloe’s eyes are wide open as she frantically looks around.

“What?” Rae shrugs her shoulders and looks to Jim and Izzy.

“I… I think heard footsteps.” Izzy’s whisper is carried off into the night.

Rae looks to Jim for back-up. But his brow is creased and there’s more than a hint of tension in the way his shoulders hunch. She concedes, stands stock still, and listens. But she can hear nothing through the ever present tempest of air and leaves.

They carry on regardless, huddling a little closer. It’s the cracking and breaking of a branch that finally gives Rae palpations. As it swings across their path, she instinctually throws an arm in front of her face, in case it should hit her. It takes several long deep breaths to sufficiently steady her to check on the others. Izzy is hanging onto Jim for dear life and Chloe has limpited herself to his other side.

“You ok?” She asks, unable to disguise the tremor in her voice.

Chloe shakes her head. “I don’t like it.”

“Perhaps we should turn back and go the long way.” Jim reasons.

Izzy sighs deeply. “I don’t know if I can. My back’s so sore.”

It’s when a tear trickles down her friend’s cheek that Rae comprehends that she has to pull herself together. Getting home quickly is the top priority.

“Look, the others can’t be far behind us now. I bet Archie accidently locked himself in the toilet or something.” This unintentionally elicits a giggle from Jim, whose whole face softens and body relaxes.

“Sounds just like the sort of thing he’d do. My boyfriend is hopelessly impractical.”

This domestic interlude calms the clinging girls sufficiently so that they can appreciate the wisdom of Rae’s words.

“If we turn back, we could miss the boys. Knowing Chop, they could be attemptin’ a shortcut through the shortcut or something. It’s just a stormy night. Lots of stuff blowing about in the wind. We’ve just wound ourselves up because it’s Halloween. There’s really nothing to be afraid of. So how’s about I lead… you know, clear the path of Slimer and any of his mates who’re hanging about and we’ll be home in no time. Right?”

The continual thud of her heart rings in her chest with every step. Rae may have convinced the others of her plan but she hasn’t convinced herself. She tells herself it’s her over-active imagination when she thinks she can hear footsteps to her left, and then to her right. There are no such things as ghosts, we’re only a few minutes from the fence. _There are no such thing as ghosts, we’re nearly at the end_. Her internal mantra plays on loop on in her head.

Nonetheless, her stomach churns with trepidation and anxious anticipation. It’s the same feeling that formed an everyday part of her life when she waited in that damp, dismal flat for Liam to come home. Powerless in her internal struggle, fear weaves its insidious threads deeper and deeper within her until she’s trapped by its web. In her disorientation, each step seems to take an age as she looks around repeatedly, eyes on stalks, blood pounding through her head, hands trembling.

_Clank clank rattle._

Izzy lets out a whimper and buries her head in Jim’s coat.

_Clank rattle rattle._

This time Chloe yelps quietly pushing herself into Jim and Izzy.

_Rattle rattle clank._

All of a sudden, Rae’s feet feel so leaden that she can’t even begin to lift her legs. Her breath becomes shorter, her fingers begin to tingle. Yet somehow, rather than giving into the panic that threatens, she draws on her innermost reserves, a deep seated and hard won resilience and resolve that permits some rational thoughts back into her mind.

“Let’s… let’s keep moving. Quicker we move, the sooner we’re out of here and home.”

Her unnaturally quick pace leaves the others slightly trailing. A little confidence seeps back in as it appears to have gone quiet. Whatever it was, or may have been, has either gone or been banished back to imagination. The wind has dropped and she can hear the crunch-crunch of dead leaves under her feet once more. She strides on, determined yet filled with disquiet.

All of sudden, there’s a rush of air and a strong grip on her arm. Eyes shut automatically, her mouth opens in a silent scream. The pernicious fear is so pervasive that it momentarily paralyses her and slows her racing heart until nothing but sheer terror remains. Chloe’s piercing scream never registers.

Flight instinct kicks in so rapidly, that she has no idea she’s even moving, let along running at a speed that burns her lungs and causes bile to rise from her stomach.

It takes Jim a couple of minutes to calm down sufficiently to appraise what has actually happened. Both Chloe and Izzy are coiled against him.

There is a short lull. A silence only invaded by the waning noise of the wind. He blinks a few times, clutching the girls tightly. Finally, the figures in front of him register. It all begins to make sense. He’s about to say something, about to chastise, to let rip when Izzy groans and doubles over.

“Izz?” He puts a hand on her back.

She remains bent over. It’s her second cry that breaks Chloe’s trance of dread. Soon she’s tiptoed over to her friend, still shaking.

“Izz?” She rubs her friends back. “Is it the baby?”

“I… I don’t know.” The response is whispered. “Probably some of those Braxton thingies. You know practice contractions or something.”

Chloe stares at the guilty perpetrators, fire in her gaze.

“What the fuck? Think that was funny, do you?”

Charlie’s little gang shrug their shoulders, but only half smirks are present on their faces.

“You know that was childish. It was pathetic. It was…” Her diatribe is interrupted by a wail from Izzy, who grabs Jim’s arm tightly.

Jim helps her to the floor, which wipes any remaining grins from the assembled group.

Before Chloe can even open her mouth to point out the consequences of their actions, they’re looking sheepish, shifting from foot to foot. She’s wondering just what to do next, when she hears the distant sound of drunken singing.

“Right you.” She shouts harshly at Charlie. “Go and get your brother and tell him what’s happened. What you and your bloody mates have done.” Her hands are on her hips, her face closer to his than necessary. Abruptly, she turns on her heel to sit next to her friend and stroke her back soothingly.

It’s not long before Chop comes sprinting up, almost collapsing next to Izzy.

“Oh my god, Izz. We have to get you to hospital.” The panic in his voice is obvious.

“I think it’s calming down a bit now.” She whispers. “Probably a false alarm.”

Mike’s next to arrive, pulling Chloe straight into his arms and squeezing her that little bit too tightly. He glowers fiercely over her shoulder at Charlie’s friends but chooses silence. This is not a battle he’s prepared to fight now.

Finn brings up the rear, supporting most of Archie’s weight, trying to hurry him along, his impatience beginning to show through. As he reaches the scene, Chop and Charlie are mid argument. Chop has hands on each side of his brothers costume, near his collar, and is pulling him close, the volume of his disgusted tirade ever increasing until Mike intervenes, pulling the pair apart, remonstrating that now is not the time.

That’s when it hits Finn. The inexorable unsettling feeling finally implodes into abject terror. He opens his mouth. The rising lump in his chest steals his words. He tries again. His throat is too dry. But the anxiety quickly reaches such a visceral intensity that it forces out a single hoarse “Mae!”

All eyes turn to him.

“The fuck is Mae?” He takes a step this way, then that, head turning, eyes scanning.

“She was with you lot, wasn’t she?” Mike takes control directing his question at Jim, who can only nod in silent response.

“But…” Finn stutters, brow deeply furrowed.

“She was just ahead of us.” Chloe’s voice is unsteady, her tone pitchy. “We heard these noises. She was leading the way.”

“I, err.” Daz begins but stops when he becomes the centre of attention.

Mike walks slowly up to him, while Finn rocks back and forth on his feet in discombobulation.

“What?” Mike growls. “What were you going to tell us?”

“I… she, err.” All the cocksure swagger has vanished from his posture, the confidence from his voice. “I think she might have run off when I grabbed her arm.”

“You…you…” Finn’s right up close to him, a hand on the scruff of his neck before he’s even realised that he’s moved.

“Come on, Finny.” Mike drags him off. “She’ll be terrified. Let’s split up, we’ll cover more ground that way.”

Meekly, Finn follows suit, the fight drained from his body at the thought of what his girl may be thinking, may be feeling.  Another loud cry emanates from behind them, stopping the pair in their tracks. It’s Izzy. They turn, unsure of what to do, only to find a scene of destruction behind them: Izzy clutching at her belly on the ground with a terrified Chop attempting to minister by patting her back. Chloe is in a daze, eyes darting without focus. Jim is pacing while Archie hiccups loudly in a heap on the ground. It’s Jim who waves them on, imparts the permission Finn feels he needs.

They jog around the graveyard, filling the night with cries of “Mae” and shouts for “Rae”. They split up to cover more ground. They look behind sepulchres and crypts as they tread careful paths between tombstones. They go round in circles and retrace their steps, meet up and dash off again.

It’s Mike who finally puts a stop to their repeated searching, which is almost verging on the bleakly farcical. He has to physically restrain Finn; preventing the dangerous mix of distress, blind fear and anger from overcoming his friend and causing a catastrophic meltdown. Although Mike can sense the slightest of cooling of melting pot of emotions that keeps Finn’s body almost unbearably taut, he worries that this may merely represent a fleeting dip brought on by physical comfort and mental exhaustion. He’s only too aware that the Finn’s coiled emotions may rapidly spring back and burst into full force, with potentially devastating personal impact, as well preventing them from locating the woman who is the root of all their concern.

“Finn.” He begins tentatively. “We’ll find her.”

Finn begins to struggle and a flurry of stuttered “buts” and “hows” are emitted from his parched lips, yet not even a single sentence forms in his head. It’s a mire of blurred images comprising memory and imagination tinged  by Dore’s dark, heinous Victorian etchings of Dante’s inferno that he studied only that week in college: bodies lying in the darkness, bleeding an terrorised by monstrous creatures.

Coherent thought only begins to seep back, when Mike pulls him a little tighter, firmly stating.

“We can neither find nor help her when you’re like this, Princess. You have to calm yourself.”

Finn instinctively tenses again.

“This is for her. Do it for her. I promise we’ll sort this out. Trust me.”

Finn takes a couple of deep breaths, but the ever present visions are only just suppressed below the surface, making it nigh on impossible to think.

“Can you?” His trembling fingers pass Mike his lighter and cigarettes.

He grunts his thanks and passes no comment as Mike takes one for himself. Each lengthy drag edges down his nerves. His face scrunches up in deep concentration. Visions of the possibilities play in his mind, frame by frame until he dismisses them, only for another to start.

Lighting up again, his body shivers violently. He discovers his still bare arms, displaying heavily inked, painted streaked, goose bump flocked skin. Something stirs as he unlocks the memories held by his own decorated skin; her touch, her skin, her art, their bond, their union and their history. His fingers trace slowly over the designs like she has done so many times before. It occurs to him, this is probably the first time he’s ever touched his own skin this way and he finds an odd sense of comfort in it.

The pieces move slowly around. The idea’s hazy at first, as he’s unsure. It was a long time ago. The rational part of his mind still tells him that she would have probably made it out of the cemetery and gone straight home where she feels safe. But he begins to wonder.

The wind may have wilted to a strong breeze, but Finn treads on the remnants of its havoc: small branches, leaves and a litter of drinks cans, crisp packets and chip wrappers. He’s nimble on his feet but running is not an option as he can’t afford to miss any clues. His fingers continually tense and flex in his pocket as his eyes scan every nook and cranny that he passes on his way.

Uncertainty and doubt fill his mind with every passing step. Should he have run straight home? Should he have back-tracked towards town and S&N’s? Should he have returned to the group and organised a wider search? Guilt about Izzy prickles too. She appeared to be in serious pain. What if the baby was coming? What if? What if? What if his beloved girl was somewhere he couldn’t find her? Visions of her being somewhere alone and afraid in the dark night in her wholly inadequate clothing taunt him.

A shiver runs through his spine as he tells himself to get a grip. But he can’t prevent his deepest fear of loss continually intruding on his rational consciousness. He’s so wound up and nauseous already that he can’t even bear to light up. As he nears the park on the corner of their street, his heart races, his chest becomes tighter and he has to remind himself not to hyperventilate. Mentally his focus may solely be her, but physically, his anxiety menaces.

As he turns the final corner, his legs seem to be made of cotton wool. When the bench finally comes into view, he stops as his heart sinks deep into his belly. The bench where he had first found her having a panic attack, so many months ago when she was Mike’s new girlfriend. A stabbing pain begins in his chest as he recalls the state he had found her in. Yet right now, he would take that. No, he’d be grateful for that. Looking up to the sky, much to his surprise, he finds it filled with stars. His fingers wipe away the tears he had no idea had fallen.

Deciding he’d better have a cigarette to try and clear his head, he ambles disconsolately towards that bench. It’s only when he’s a couple of feet away that he finally catches sight of the figure curled up on its wooden slats. His heart skips a beat and his feet don’t seem to want to obey the signals his brain is sending out.

He sits heavily next to her form. “Mae.” His voice is no more than a croak.

No response.

“Mae.” He risks putting a hand on her arm when he really wants to pull her fast against him.

Her reaction is not so much a flinch as wrenching her whole body away from him, as if his touch were made of fire. She’s perched right on the edge of the bench, head protected by her arms.

Remaining still feels like one of the hardest things he’s ever done.

“M…Mae.” He stammers. “It’s me, Finn.”

He’s too busy berating himself for stating something so obvious to notice that her posture has softened, her arms lowered.

“Mae.” He stares straight forward. “I think you must be really scared. Really frightened right now.” His thumb automatically enters his mouth and he bites heavily at his cuticles. “But it’s really important that you’re ok. That you’re not hurt.” He chokes on the end of his words and begins to cough.

Silence.

He looks over, biting his bottom lip. “You’re cold. It’s… it’s important we get you warm and dry, girl.” He stutters.

“I…I thought.” The quaver in her voice almost swallows her words.

He shuffles along in the vain hope that some of his body heat may transfer to her.

“Just for a second… I thought it were Liam.” The effect of his name is so pronounced that her breath rapidly becomes shallow and she hangs her head.

As touching her is not an option, Finn drops to a squat in front of her.

“It’s okay, girl. It’s only me. I’m here. You’re safe.” He stops, unsure of what else he could possibly say that would penetrate the anxiety that is utterly incapacitating her.

Everything slows to a near stop in Finn’s brain as he realises that they are back where they started. Back at this bench where he’d first witnessed her panic attacks. “Mae, ya’ve got to slow your breathing right down.”

He feels his own heart rate start to spiral out of control when there’s no initial response. If anything, it seems like her panic is ever heightening. “Mae.” He stammers once more in the quietest of whispers, which is all his vocal chords will allow.

He closes his eyes, praying to gods unknown for strength and clemency. He falls from his squat to his knees, unable to hold the position any longer.

And then he feels something. The touch is so light, so evanescent, at first he thinks it might be a leaf brushing his skin. But then, it grows into something more tangible: a soft pressure which increases through his t-shirt, until her palm is placed flat against his chest.

This time, it takes serious effort on his part to slow his own breathing, to set the pace. The warmth of her touch stills him sufficiently to concentrate. He dares to look up. Her head may still be cast low but the rise and fall of her chest is less ragged, more even. The warmth from the union of their bodies slowly calms them, a sense of peace seeps in atom by atom. They remain joined at his chest as an indeterminate number of seconds tick by on his paint flecked watch.

“You’re so cold.” She whispers, breaking the tranquillity.

“I… can you make it home?”

He almost mourns the loss of her touch as she gathers herself up and unsteadily gets to her feet. Somehow he follows suit as her feet step slowly in the direction of their home.

He walks alongside, fighting his rising need to feel her in his arms, fearful that his touch would remind her, would be confused with something else. But above all, he’s petrified that his touch could send her away to the underworld of her nightmares.

His hand jerks away when her palm first meets his, as if it is controlled by anxiety itself. Her fingers seek out his once more, this time he accepts the touch and entwines their fingers. The small shared warmth suffuses him with the strength his body and mind so desperately need.

It’s only when he’s fumbling with the front door key and drops it due to the tremor in his fingers, that he remembers his surprise. He swallows thickly as he crosses the threshold, chastising himself for the whole stupid idea. An idea, which at this moment, couldn’t be any more inappropriate or unwanted. But then he identifies an absence that troubles him deeply.

He steps back outside, picks up her hand and leads her into the calm and safety of their home. Helping her onto the sofa, he attends to what he perceives to be her most immediate need. He carefully drapes a blanket around her shoulders without actually making contact with her shaking form.

“I’ll uh… just go and make the tea.”

The steam rising from the kettle has him unlocking the back door and shoving a cigarette between his lips. He scrabbles for a lighter he has to repeatedly spin. There’s no ritual, no enjoyment, just perfunctory and fleeting relief.

Rae pulls a face when she takes the first sip of her drink.

“You need the sugar, Mae. It’s good for shock.”  He doesn’t tell her he’s put four in his.

He can’t make his mind up about which record to play, so chooses to sit on the table opposite her in silence. He waits and hopes for words, but even after the tea has been drunk, it’s oh so quiet. Daring to place his hands on hers causes her to jump to her feet.

“I… I need a bath.” She gestures indiscriminately at her paint splattered attire and makes for the stairs.

He darts in front of her, switching the lights on and closing their bedroom door behind his back.

“I’ll, uh, just make the bed while you have your bath. I’ll erm bring some pyjamas through.”

She’s too exhausted to question, even contemplate his statement. She even begins to think that she imagined making the bed earlier.

The water is hot, almost, but not quite too hot. She couldn’t be bothered to pour in bubbles, so she scrubs at the paint with the Imperial Leather soap that Finn’s father keeps buying him. Eventually she leans back and closes her eyes, but the tears won’t come.

Finn rushes through his task, throwing the ceramics quickly into a box, shoving the fizz and glasses in the wardrobe and putting the candles in drawers. As he hears a noise from the bathroom, he catches sight of the bunch of flowers and impetuously throws them out of the window. Solemnly, he takes the checked night clothes out, but finds the bathroom door closed.

That unmistakeable churning starts in his stomach. It burns and renders him nauseous with the weight of memories of those first nights spent in his room at Chop’s. Sinister visions block his ability to think beyond the locked the door and he wanders into the studio at the back of the house. He can hardly bear to look at the technicolour remnants of their earlier frivolity. Refusing to lay eyes on the canvass they created, less it should push him to regret, he prods it with his foot under the table.

It takes him quite some minutes to unfurl the sofa bed, which he tells himself is the right thing to do. He’s curled atop its plain base, trying to slow his racing thoughts, trying to fathom what he should do next. Wiping his face, his hand comes away wet in a brightly coloured swirl. He sniffs back the tears he believes selfish and wanders through to the now empty bathroom for a hot shower.

It’s only when he’s routing in the airing cupboard for a sleeping bag that her voice finally breaks through his stupor. He grabs some still drying clothes and wanders through to their bedroom, legs still feeling weak.

“Finn.” Her eyes are as wide as he can remember and luminous. “What’s this?”

He looks at the tiny aubergine coloured ghost in her hand and curses his own ineptitude, his failure to take care.

“I…um…’s nothing.”

“Finn.” There’s more strength to her tone this time.

“I… I made it at college. It was just… it’s silly, really.” He walks over and takes from her hand. “I’ll just put it away.”

“Finn.” Her third call is instructive, unforgiving and demands answers. “I also found this by the bed.” Her hand holds forth a book full of ghost stories.

He winces and bites his bottom lip. “Shit. I’m so sorry, Mae. I… you see. Look, I’ll put it away.” He takes a pace forward but she pulls her hand back.

“I don’t understand.” A single tear trickles down her cheek. A tear he comprehends has nothing to do with the book. “You… you pulled the sofa bed out.”

His head hangs in shame at his own cowardice and inability to confront. He’s been hiding from his own nemesis for so many days that hiding has become a natural reaction. It’s no longer a satisfactory course of action, as all it has brought is misery. Pursing his lips, he holds his breath and gazes at his feet.

“I had this stupid idea. You know it being Halloween and all. And I wanted to surprise you. In a nice way. And I… I planned a little candle lit story telling thing with the book, a bottle of champagne and the ghosts.”

“The ghosts?”

“I sort of made a family of them. Testing out different colour glazes.”

“You… you made some sculptures just for tonight?”

He tries to shrug as nonchalantly as possible.

“Well, where are the others then?”

He unpacks them one by one onto the windowsill: the seven smaller ones and the two large white versions.

“They’re beautiful.” She whispers.

“These ones have depressions to hold the candles.” He points at the larger versions.

When he finally looks back, she’s not lost to some inner underworld of the past of confusion; the corners of her lips are curled upwards in the beginnings of a smile.

“Can I see?”

He frowns.

“I mean with the candles.”

There’s a definite smile on her face when the two tea lights are burning and she extends her hand towards him.

Perching on the edge of the bed, his thumb rubs small circles in her palm.

“They’re beautiful. It was a lovely idea, Finn. I’m sorry…”

“Mae.” He intercedes. “Nothing to be sorry for, girl. Nothing at all.”

“But it’s all ruined.”

“Nah, not all. Well only the flowers I threw out of the window.”

She begins to giggle. “You… you threw the flowers of the window. You dickhead.”

He laughs at himself, then his face falls. “Oh Shit. I’ve got to call Mike. We were both… he was helping look for you.”

Her face drops a little.

“And erm… I need to check on Izz.”

Deep lines furrow Rae’s forehead.

“Think Charlie leaping out like that might have caused her to go into labour.”

Rae’s on her feet and pulling a coat from the wardrobe, when the effects of the night’s events make themselves corporally known. Collapsing into a heap on the bed, she croaks. “It was Charlie?”

“Him and his mates.” Finn’s face betrays some of his anger.

“Right. I see.” She bunches the fabric of her pyjamas in her hand. “You’d better go make that call.”

When he returns, she immediately asks for an update on her friend. Finn tells her that Izzy’s being monitored in hospital, that she might be in labour but her waters haven’t broken yet. Her acknowledgement of the news comes in a voice brimming with worry that makes Finn even more concerned about her.

She’s curled up in bed facing the wardrobes.  It takes all his remaining reserves and courage to crawl into the bed alongside her. Lying on his back, he flicks the light off and watches the shadows cast by the flickering candles, contemplating his next move. More than anything he wishes to succumb to his innermost desire to take her into his arms to feel her securely against him once more. Yet he’s not sure whether she’s either ready to accept such full on contact.

As the minutes pass, he begins to fidget, still in turmoil. Trying to stem the pulses that flow through him inciting him to move, he shuts his eyes. He silently mouths her name like a mantra, until he can bear it no longer. First his fingers stretch and flex in her direction, then his hand, and finally his arm. Trembling, his touch is tentative and faltering until he gathers himself. It evolves into something surer, firmer and more constant.

All of a sudden, it’s as if a damn has finally given way and Rae rolls over and buries her head against his chest, gripping him tightly around the waist. A monsoon of tears soon soak his still damp t-shirt as he strokes her back and mumbles soothing nonsense into her hair. When she finally stills, her voice is not quiet and broken as he expects.

“Oh Finn. I thought it was him, you know- grabbing my arm. I thought it was Liam.”

Hearing her mention his name sends shock waves through him such that he’s not quite sure how to respond to her mettle.

“You think it’s silly, don’t you? I can’t blame you. I mean, he’d have to have been found me and been following me for ages and…”

“It’s not silly.” His voice is low.

“And I went running off like that. I know it must have worried you and the others. And I let Izz down and I don’t really know why I did that. So stupid.”

“Mae.” His tone is gruff. “It were instinct that made you run. Nothing more natural than that. Totally understandable. You’ve let nobody down. Nobody.” He swallows down the painful lump in his throat. “Everyone was just worried about you. We just…I needed to know that you were…” His voice breaks as he cannot hold back the tide any longer.

“Oh Finn, no.” She dissolves. “You see, this is my fault. I should have got over it all by now. I shouldn’t be affected by the past… I shouldn’t be dragging us back when we’ve spent all this time…”

“Stop.” The level of his cry shocks him. “Girl.” This time it’s quiet, yet undeniably firm. “I don’t want to hear about it being your fault, because that couldn’t be more wrong.” He holds her tighter. “The past affects you how it affects you. There’s no magic time marker you pass or no magic button you can press that switches it off. It’s not a step back Mae, it’s just a side step, another hurdle in your path. And everybody has their own hurdles. We all have to struggle and fight, every single day.”

His words hang heavily in the palpable silence. The letter wafts through his mind once more, causing him to momentarily tense.

“Why are you always…” She starts.

“I love you, you dickhead. It’s as simple as that.” He interrupts and presses his lips to her forehead.

She pulls back, eyes still wet and gazes into his eyes, before placing her lips against his.

“I fucking love you back, dickhead.”

“Good.” He replies, a smile creeping across his lips.

Her smile is interrupted by a huge yawn.

His fingers tuck her hair behind her ear and then sweep down her cheek. “You should probably try to get some sleep, girl.”

She snuggles gratefully against him and closes her eyes.

Half an hour later and although Rae’s body is more relaxed, her breathing deep and even, she’s still awake. Tugging at Finn’s t-shirt she mutters: “Are you awake?”

“Umm.” He murmurs.

“I… I can’t sleep.”

Blinking his eyes open, Finn rolls onto his back. “Hmmm.” It takes the fog in his brain a while to clear.

“How’s about I… How about I read you a story. Not one of them spooky ones, mind.”

She’s soothed by the slow, careful way he reads Jane Austin’s Emma. There may be pauses where there shouldn’t be pauses, he may stumble over the odd word but there’s inflection and expression in his voice. Rae nestles her head against his, eyelids drooping as his warm mellow tone carries her off to a dreamless sleep.

**

Opening his eyes, he wakes with a near violent start, bolt upright in the bed: fists balled, body soaked in sweat and chest tight. The room may be silent, but he is near deafened by the blood pounding in his head. The struggle to get his breathing under control seems to be never-ending, continuing long after he has risen to his feet and left a quietly snoring Rae behind, fearful that he may disturb her much needed slumber.

Already lightheaded, he stubbornly opens the spare room window to light up with shaking hands. Try as he might, he cannot erase the images from tonight’s disturbing nightmare from his mind. A second cigarette provides little improvement, only causing him to cough grey white plumes into the bitingly cold air.

The pernicious tangle of emotions and thoughts in his head is too much to bear, such that he ends up with his palms flat on the table, head hanging low. He tries to tell himself it was but a dream. Although he is no stranger to night terrors, this time it was too close to reality and he can’t shake off the resultant fear. Unsteadily, he pads back across the landing to their bed. Holding himself as still as possible, he listens to her soft, steady breathing. But it’s not enough.

Fingers flex towards her and finally his trembling hand makes the lightest of contact with her arm. As intended, she doesn’t stir in the slightest, so he permits himself to rest his hand there. But his heart continues to race, sparks igniting through his body, prickling at his skin. A particularly malicious vision flicks through his brain and he flinches, snatching his hand back as if her skin was burning hot.

His breath shortens and he panics, castigating himself for his selfishness. Yet, she rolls onto her front and continues in her deep sleep. Tea is what he needs. Tea makes everything alright, or so he tells himself as he wanders slowly into the kitchen.

The hot sweet liquid only serves to intensify the near overwhelming tumult inside. It’s all pervasive, terrifying and destructive. He wants to hit out. He almost wishes the shadows were tangible so he could fight them. He paces furiously around the kitchen, then the living room. His fingers close around the front door latch and he allows himself to open it, even though he knows he won’t go for the lengthy run his body and soul are crying out for. He can’t leave her, not tonight. What if she were to wake and find herself alone?

The pacing resumes and he runs his hands through his hair time and time again. He scratches at his skin as the wretchedness continues to evolve into something even more sinister. It feels as if his innards are blistering and pressure is building inside his head. Silent supplications for mercy leave his lips as his grip on reality loosens. It’s as he reaches what he believes to be the point of no return when something begins to fill him. His limbs feel heavy, his head muzzy as he remains swaying back and forth on his feet.

Finding himself in his studio, paintbrush in hand, he’s no idea how he got back up here. But as the fog clears, the all-encompassing need to relieve the pressure has him slathering thick paint all over a canvass. The fear for her has never left him and it soon worms it way into his brain until he can think of nothing else. His strokes become smaller, deeper, more intense. He adds the blue of the t-shirt she was wearing when he carried her from that dingy flat, then the purple of her bruises, the red of his anger, the white of his pain.

The painting becomes a maelstrom of brushstrokes all leading in different directions, dissonantly coursing over one another, with no single focal point. Tiredness creeps in as the emotions drain from his wrecked body. But it’s still not enough because there is more he has to acknowledge. Something he has been resisting until its poison now threatens his very being. He can do nothing but concede.

The second canvas takes longer to cover; his brush is smaller as he battles each and every stroke. A perpetual frown mars his brow as he toys with it, not wishing to fully explore those matters which have been burning in his head since Kester suggested he write them down. Refusing to surrender to them only increases their potency until he takes the canvass in both hands throwing into the floor in an impotent rage. But it’s not enough.

On his knees, he faces his creation as a silent scream leaves his mouth. At this moment, the dam finally gives way, pushing him further than he thought possible. Fingers repeatedly rake through the paint, clawing at the canvass beneath, destroying his carefully laid lines and patterns. The colours are forced together until the out-pouring leaves him forlorn. Tears stream down his face. It feels as if the painting has drained all the life from him, consumed all his warmth and hope. He shivers violently and closes his eyes.

He’s so spent that he nearly considers crawling into the bathroom. He double checks that he has closed the studio door behind him before traipsing through to wash every last trace of his perceived transgression behind. Sink cleaned down with a towel, which he tosses into the airing cupboard, he wearily finds his way back to bed. He breathes a little lighter, finding Rae still sleeping soundly.

Exhaustion soon pushes him into a dreamless slumber.

“Finn…..Finn.”  
It’s the combination of her voice and gentle touch on his arm that finally rouses him. He can’t prevent the groan leaving his lips as he blinks several times in the too bright light.

“I brought you some tea, sleepyhead.” As she smiles down at him, her hair falls down in front of her face.

“Oh… thanks.” His voice is croaky.

The instant she turns away, he knows he needs her. Throwing out an arm, he just manages to catch her wrist. She spins, an eyebrow raised, the corner of her mouth quirking upwards. She says nothing.

“Mae.” He begins but nothing follows. He pulls her until she’s right against the edge of the bed. Then the uncertainty slithers back in. Faced with her frown, he reluctantly lets go.

“Finn?” Her eyes are full of question and concern, inviting the words he’s simultaneously terrified of but desperate to air.

“I… I… uh… I’ll be down in a minute to make breakfast.” He stutters, telling himself he has to get a grip. Today is about ensuring she’s alright, being prepared to listen, looking after her.  

She leans down and kisses him on the cheek. “Don’t let the tea go cold.” She grins pointing at the mug and ambles out of the room.

As he hears her walking down the stairs, his head falls heavily back onto the pillows and he stares at the ceiling as if its blankness could somehow clear the nebula of his past suffering. Yet, all that comes is the shame of being so wrapped up in his own issues.

Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he forces himself into a sitting position. His head drops automatically into his hands, which run through unruly hair. Sighing, he reaches for the cup of tea and tries to gulp the hot liquid back as quickly as possible.

Rae’s singing along quietly to “What’s The Story Morning Glory” and flicking through albums. Despite the previous night’s events, she had woken calmer and more settled than she could have imagined possible. A smile grows on her lips as she thinks of the ceramic ghosts Finn had made for her. They evoked much needed cheer and are a tangible representation of Finn’s affection and emotions. Emotions that sometimes came pouring out, and sometimes were that deeply buried that he couldn’t identify ways to access them.

Her face falls. Something wasn’t quite right this morning. Although Finn tended to sleep in at weekends, she hadn’t expected him to be that hard to wake. It wasn’t so much that, but the look in his eyes and the tone of his voice didn’t fit with the man who had spoken so tenderly and reassuringly to her as she sobbed in his arms during the night.

She’s still musing over the conundrum when he wanders down the stairs in his favourite tatty tracksuit bottoms and a woollen sweater replete with numerous small holes and a fraying cuff, which he has repeatedly refused to throw away.

“Hey.” The smile on his lips doesn’t light up his eyes. “Ta for the tea. Porridge?”

She nods, biding her time, wishing to think things through. Wondering if tiredness and last night’s stress are making her see things that aren’t really there. Watching as he busies himself with the now familiar ritual of heating milk on the stove, she notices the rigidity of his shoulders. There’s something mechanical about his movements, something about the way he’s not singing along to Oasis.

Nonetheless, he brings the bowls over to their table with an almost cheeky grin. Looking into her bowl, she laughs at the way he has tried to drizzle the honey in the shape of a smiley face.

“Nice touch there, Finley.”

He shrugs and puts a spoonful of his porridge, covered in berries, in his mouth.

“Don’t Look Back in Anger” plays as they eat quietly. Part of her wants to talk but it’s easier to remain within the security of this shared part of their daily routine. Finn had instigated breakfast as way of spending some precious moments together before college and work necessitated long hours spent apart. Nights when all they could do was to snatch an hour in front of the TV with some reheated food were increasingly more commonplace.

Her trance is broken by the clunk of metal hitting porcelain. She looks up to find Finn picking up his spoon; a flush on his cheeks and an apologetic smile on his lips. There’s something awkward about the way he picks up the spoon, something slightly unnatural or uncomfortable about it.

Trying to figure out the puzzle in her head, she eats steadily, immersing herself back into the familiar.

Almost exactly as she finishes, his hand reaches out and covers hers on the table in a warm, deliberate and grounding touch. “Mae?” His eyes are barely visible under his fringe. “You ok and that? I mean, I’m still worried, after last night.” His voice is quiet.

She bites her lip and sighs. “It was just a fright, that was all.”

“I know girl. But…”  
“I just made a bit of a mountain out of…”

She near recoils in mild shock as he leaps onto the table and sits before her.

“It were… it were… you didn’t. It’s fine, Mae. All that matters is that you’re ok.” He picks both her hands up in his.

The small niggles about her behaviour having cast a dampener on an otherwise good night and having brought unnecessary worry onto her friends are massaged away by his calloused thumbs. Although he’s really close, she yearns for more - she longs to feel the warmth and solidity of his body. Pushing her bowl to the side and standing in a single swift movement, she nudges his knees to stand in the angle of his legs.

The embrace is not as comfortable as she imagined. Try as she might, she cannot bury her head against his chest as she wants. She has to settle for resting her head slightly over his shoulder. At least his arms encircle her body and a hand begins to stroke her back soothingly. But the usual pressure is absent, the touch more tentative. She’s sure she can feel him tensing and flexing his fingers along her back, which disconcerts her to the extent that she has to pull back.

“Mae?” There’s nothing false or altered about the compassion in his deep chestnut eyes.

She says nothing as she snuggles against him once more, in a futile attempt at finding the peace that always comes from being in his arms. Rivulets of tension begin to course through her veins as she turns her head from one side to another and back, until finally, she has to break free to alleviate the mounting discomfort.

A deep frown is etched on his face, his top teeth have trapped his bottom lip. But there are no answers. It’s only when she catches sight of his twitching fingers that a seed is sown. The nails of his right hand have dark deposits beneath them.

She looks down again to be certain before tilting her head to catch his gaze. That’s when she sees it. A dark smudge on his right temple, hidden by his too long fringe.

She reaches forward ever so gently and runs a finger down the side of his face, eyes never leaving his. “Have you been painting?”

She feels a jolt pass through him as his eyes drop to the floor. When he looks up, he’s doing that thing with his mouth again. It’s quirked uncomfortably to one side.

“I, well… umm.” He sighs heavily. “Yeah.” His voice is a near whisper.

Sensing that there is more to come and aware that any further questions will likely make him clam up, Rae stands, a hand still cupping his cheek.

The ensuing silence is palpable and painful. Its tenure is so lengthy that Rae has to question whether she should take the risk of probing. Just as it becomes near unbearable, she catches Finn chewing the inside of his cheek, a sign that he is mulling things over, looking for words.

“It were… it was… I…” The frustration in his voice is quiet yet intense. He exhales slowly and shuts his eyes for an indeterminate period of time before carefully slipping to his feet  
.  
He rolls out his right shoulder, his left hand holding it and then repeats the process on the other side before extending his hand towards her.

“Do you err…” He stops himself, uncertain about whether he’s ready for this. But he’s tired. Tired of fighting of alone. Tired of trying to hide it from himself as well as her. “Do you want to see?” He asks with a voice so quiet it’s barely a whisper.

He stumbles twice on the stairs and barely seems to have the strength to open the door, yet Rae stays back, allowing him space and time.  

He takes a single step into the room and stands back, revealing the canvas on the table.

Hesitantly, Rae approaches the artwork. Even from three paces, she can read the fear and anger in its multi-coloured texture. There’s nothing soft or free flowing about it, it’s full of sharp angles and an abruptness she has never seen in his work. She bites down on the inside of her cheek as she lifts it up to examine it more closely.

“It’s… I was so worried about you last night. It’s partly about that.” He begins but his breath catches heavily in his chest.

She puts the canvass back on the table and turns to face him. “You… you were angry when you painted it.”

He raises his eyebrows, swallows, then nods. “I couldn’t help it, Mae. Whenever I think of what happened to ya, I…. I know it’s not what you want to hear, and I have no right to, but the whole thing still makes me feel sick to the stomach.”

The words cut through the air and Rae feels like the breath has momentarily been knocked from her body. She turns to look out of the window at the branches of a tree, bereft of its leaves, swaying in the breeze. It takes quite some time for the meaning to sink in, for her to assimilate what must have happened last night.

When she’s ready to talk, he’s staring at his boots, the tic in his fingers extremely pronounced.

“I’m proud of you.”

“You wha’?”

She shakes her head gently. “This.” She gesticulates at the canvass. “This is progress, Finn. It’s the first time you’ve…the anger…”

“I’ve no right. It happened to you, not me. I was just th’idiot who…”

“Stop. Let’s not go back to that. You feel how you feel about it. And, if it was the other way around.” Rae stops herself and then half runs across the room, desperate to be held and to hold.

His grip is a little too tight, a little prolonged, and yet it’s also a little too soft. He’s stroking her hair when she turns her head and glimpses it lying on the floor. A sea of blackness in an otherwise colourful room.  A knot forms in her stomach; she wants to see, to comprehend, yet anxiety won’t let her move.

“Umm, Mae.” His voice cracks. “I painted another one this morning. When I couldn’t sleep.”

He holds out his hand in the direction of the stricken canvass.  Sitting cross legged on the floor, she faces the nightmarish vision before her. It’s brimming with fear, pain, and a seething mass of emotions that she can’t define. But nothing can dim its deeply disturbing presence.

A cold draft and a whiff of cigarette smoke causes her to lift her eyes to the window. He’s perched on the ledge, a full blown tremor in his hands, gaze locked on the plume being expelled from his lips. It’s as if he can tell that she’s looking at him, expecting.

“I’ve been fighting with this thing, this…” He trails off, wringing his hands, a plume of smoke dancing before him. “I sort of felt a release when I was doing the first painting.” He bites at a rough piece of skin on his thumb. “And that second one just happened. I didn’t mean for it to be last night.” His eyes burn into hers, pleading for something she can’t quite name. “It was as If me hands had a life of their own.” He sighs. “I couldn’t help myself.”

His lips part again and his face contorts as if he’s about to impart more. He licks his parched lips and appears to try once more before succumbing to the temptation of tobacco.

Window shut, he’s just slipping down from the window ledge when the doorbell rings. They stand still facing each other, neither ready to rush down. Rae takes his hands in hers and squeezes gently. Just as she’s leaving the room, he catches her wrist and pulls her in for the hug he so desperately needs. Even though the bell rings again, she hold on that little bit longer.

“Oh, Rae. Thank god you’re okay.” Chloe throws her arms around her friend.

Finn looks up at Mike, who’s dressed in sweats with a thick black knitted beanie on his head. Mike smiles and places a large hand on his shoulder before pulling Finn closer and patting him softly on the back.

“So,” Chloe begins, “the good news is Izz is ok. It was a false alarm. Just some contractions, but they kept her in overnight.”

“Is Chopper holding up alright?” Finn asks.

“Yeah.” Mike nods to the side. “As well as can be expected. They kicked him out of the ward early this morning. You can imagine how well that went down. But he’s back there right now, fussing over her.”

“I’m just so happy they’re ok. I’m sorry if I made things any worse.” Rae’s words trail off at the end.

“Rae.” Chloe’s tone is strong bordering on fierce. “It wasn’t your fault. It was Charlie and his idiot mates. What they did was so bloody childish. Izzy could have had her baby. I have no idea what they were thinking. Brainless fools. I’m not surprised that Izzy disapproves. They frightened the life out of me. I can’t remember the last time I felt that scared.”

Finn notices the subtle way Mike squeezes Chloe’s waist as he wraps an arm around her and leans his head over her shoulder.

“I take it this muppet has looked after you properly.” Mike smiles, play punching Finn in the arm with his spare hand.

Rae looks at Finn. “He’s not been too shabby. Have you?”

Finn chews on his lip and stares at the socks on his feet, noticing a rather obvious hole in the toe of the right one.  Momentarily, he focusses all his energy on wriggling his toe back inside.

“Fancy a tea and some biscuits, Chlo?  I’m famished even though I’ve only just had breakfast.”

“I wouldn’t say no to a coffee. You got any of those Italian biscuits?”

Rae rolls her eyes. “What do you think?”

“I take it that means I’ll have to make do with a custard cream then. Actually, I wanted to tell you all about my latest ideas for the wedding. They kind of came to me in my sleep.” Chloe giggles and follows her friend into the kitchen.

“Can I get you boys anything?” Rae calls from the kitchen.

Mike nudges Finn gently in the side. “Fancy a run, Finny? Think the fresh air would be good. Of course, we could stay and talk about the relative benefits of Chloe’s short list of colour schemes.”

Finn’s head bobs up, eyes open wide.

Mike laughs. “Come on.” He pulls another hat from his hooded top and tosses it to Finn.

They shout their goodbyes to the girls and set off in the crisp morning air. The pavements are a mess after last night’s storm. Finn wonders if it’s this rubbish alone that makes them seem unfamiliar and less welcoming.

They’ve been running for a good half an hour when Mike suggests a breather and begins to stretch out.

“How’s the wedding planning going?” Finn asks, thinking that getting in there first will buy him time.

“Umm… yeah.” Mike’s face contorts into an uneasy smile as he repositions his beanie. “Chlo’s got so many ideas: a church, reception venues, food, cakes, flowers. We haven’t even pinned down a date yet. Not one that works for all her family, least ways.”

“You’re not deciding on things together like?” Finn frowns.

“Weddings and me.” Mike sighs. “It’s not that I don’t want to do it properly, or I don’t like a good party.”

“But?”  
“Marriage is so much more than one day, one single day of celebration. I’m more than ready to make the commitment publically, the right way. But all this other stuff, it’s all peripheries - nice to have, good to get right, but that’s not really what it’s all about.”

Finn chews the corner of his lip. “I’m probably speaking out of turn, but have you told Chlo how you feel? What’s important to you?”

“I thought I had. I thought she understood.”

“You can tell me I’m being an arse. But sometimes, when you don’t want to make a fuss, it can seem that you’re not that…interested. You do umm, hold back a bit. ”

Mike raises his eyebrows and strokes his beard. “Well, I suppose I’ve just been letting her do her thing a bit. She seemed so excited at first, so happy, and you know how much she likes organising things. It just hasn’t gone quite as I expected. I thought she might have actually made some choices by now.” He shrugs in his confusion.

“Th’amount of times she’s been talking about it. She seemed a bit out of sorts, stressed if you ask me.” Finn responds. He thinks he’s overstepped the mark, gone too far but his friend’s face tells him he’s waiting for more. “The other day, she even asked me what she thought you’d like to wear. Think she might need some help with some of the decisions, to get started with it all like. Expect it will all follow from there.”

Finn rocks back on his feet, observing Mike, deep in thought, staring into the distance. The run has not only cleared the cobwebs left by a late night, it has also made him feel more like himself again. The haze of the past has lifted sufficiently for things to feel clearer.

“Chlo’s a top girl, Mike. If it were me, I’d be getting that date set in stone. Not that I think… but how can you decide on things when you don’t even know if it’s going to be a summer or a winter thing?”

A chuckle emanates slowly from Mike’s lips. “Did you just? Was that a fashion based reference there, princess?”

“What? No, I meant…” Finn starts to laugh. “Fuck’s sake. Maybe I was thinking a little bit about colours.”

“Always the artist.”

A comfortable quite descends over the pair. Finn thinks he’s got away with it but then he hears Mike’s quiet tenor.

“So how are things?  I mean after last night? Rae’s okay isn’t she?”

Finn’s lips purse. “I… yeah. I think so.” He sucks his cheeks in, considering before he speaks again. “Those twats jumping out gave her a real fright. I think it brought back memories of Liam. She was in a right state when I found her.”

The associated memories hang heavy in the air between the pair. Despite the cool temperature, the rememberance feels cloying and deeply uncomfortable. Finn shifts from foot to foot while Mike barely disguises a grimace as he stares off into the distance.

“I think she’s okay this morning though.” Finn starts. “We talked last night. Still, I just can’t help but worry about it. It’s never far from the surface. Even though it’s in the past, it’s not really, is it? I mean, how do you get over something like that?”

Mike faces his friend, holding his expression as neutrally as possible, waiting for the words he knows Finn’s trying to voice.

“You think you’re doing okay and then something gets you, right out of the blue. And the memories are so powerful that you can’t help being dragged down into the past.” Finn chews at a cuticle.

“And then even if you’re happy and you manage to block it out of your head, it still finds a way back. At night when you’re asleep. It wakes you up and leaves you…” His voice disintegrates into silence.

Mike has an arm on his but Finn continues. “I uhh, I worry about how she’s coping. Whether she’s err, talking enough about her feelings. You know, findin’ a way to let stuff out when it happens and that. Or whether stuff’ll just get worse and worse or…”

“Finn.” Mike’s tone is firm yet calm. “You know as well as I do that recovery’s not some exponential curve. There are always steps back along the way. If you can accept that and acknowledge them, then maybe they won’t turn into full blown setbacks. Is Rae still seeing that counsellor guy, the one in Stamford?”

Finn nods, muttering under his breath. “We both are.”

“I think.” Mike strokes his beard. “I think that Rae having a support network is really important. Different people can provide a different outlet, provide a different perspective.” Mike purses his lips and then stills, ensuring he has Finn’s eyes before recommencing. “Talking is really important. Bottling stuff up is never a good idea. Because whatever it is, it has to come out at some point. Whether it explodes out or leeches out like a poison, it will find a way out somehow.”

Finn’s nostrils flare, his eyes prickle. The day seems even colder and less inviting than before and he shivers.

The action of rubbing his arms seems to release some of the numbness within. The numbness that he’s believed had been protecting him. And slowly a sense of purpose seeps in from the skin his hands have warmed. He limbers up, on semi-autopilot as Mike follows suit.

“You ready to go again?” Mike asks.

They set off at a slow jog, Finn’s confidence gradually increasing with each stride. As they near the edge of the park, he understands what he wants and needs to do. Turning back to face Mike he shouts, “Race you back!” before setting off at flying speed.

Nestling his backside deeper into the beanbag, he shuts his eyes briefly, allowing the mellow sound waves of Mazzy Star to wash through him. The conviction that had increased with each pace as he pounded his way home appears to have dissolved into the hot sweet tea Rae has made him. He glances briefly at her, then stares into the milky liquid, wondering if he should have insisted on a shower or something to eat first. Tapping his foot against the floor, a little pride creeps in as he recognises that he has not given into to delaying tactics.

He’d been grateful for the way Mike had whisked Chloe off to a lunch that hadn’t been planned. Somehow, he’d then managed to tell Rae that he needed to talk. But now, the air is now thick with the absence of words. Even their beloved music feels oppressive and full of self-imposed expectation, as opposed to being soothing.

“Umm Mae.” He stutters. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to…” He looks up to find her sitting patiently, eyes a little wide, brow slightly furrowed.

The thought of her anxiety is what finally pushes him over the edge. “The second painting, the one on the floor. I need to tell you about it.”

His eyes close once more as he chews the inside of his cheek. “You see, since I’ve been at college, I’ve been having rather a lot of up and downs with me confidence. Wondering what people think of me and my work.”

“You’re so talented Finn.” Rae’s voice trails off, understanding her interruption has more potential to hinder than to help.

“Yeah but everyone’s incredible at college.  You should see some of the stuff they come up with. Paintings so good they could be photos or unbelievably inventive abstract sculptures. Things I couldn’t do or come up with, not even if I… and my written work’s not much cop either. Can’t seem to get above a C in the core paper. I know it’s not my thing but I spent hours on it last time. Stayed up until two in the morning, but,” he shrugs, “even when I’m doing my own thing, nobody seems to get it, Mae.” His tone is defeated.

“And.” He takes a deep breath. “I just haven’t been able to get some words out of my head. Stuff that she always used to say to me.” He stares at his feet, feeling foolish for being caught in the past’s vicious circle, and simultaneously fretful that she may take this the wrong way. That she may think that she’s somehow not enough. As his thoughts start to spiral, the silence is pierced.

“Laura?”

The mention of her name has him swallowing deeply and cowling his head. Teeth meet soft flesh and he winces. The flames flicker and threaten inside but it’s now or never.

“I uh. I mentioned it to Kester, last time I was there. I mean, I know I should be able to control the way she affects me by now.” He wants to add that he thinks he’s weak and pathetic but something deep within prevents those admonishments from leaving his lips.

“You see, Kester reckoned that perhaps I just needed an outlet for those feelings. When I feel a bit rubbish about myself. He suggested I write a letter explaining how she made me feel…” The flames inside reach higher, rendering him nauseous and lightheaded. But he presses on regardless in complete desperation and fear that the words will turn to ashes. “But I couldn’t ever get that right, could I? I tried. Night after fucking night I started that letter and never got more than a few words in. No matter how hard I try, I can’t find the fucking words.”

His raspy voice dries out as fire becomes an inferno and sweat trickles down his back. The nefarious emotions that having been rising within finally break through, threatening to rob the very breath from his body. His head fills with visions of the past: her screaming at him mid a violent tantrum, her patronising comments and her derisive laughter.

His body crumples forward with the weight of memory. Head atop his knees, his arms encircle his legs, closing him into a tightly coiled ball. His joggers absorb the power of his cry. It’s as if by drawing himself in, he can stop the potential devastation of the blaze from spilling out into the room. That somehow, his withdrawal will protect her.

His skin is clammy, his breathing ragged. The unbearable heat is threatening to consume him entirely when a soft coolness begins to permeate his being from his left bicep. It takes a long time to Finn to realise that it’s her hand slowly running up and down his arm and then his back. Eventually, he tips sideways into her embrace. It’s the steady rhythm of her heart and her soft singing that loosens the tension and pent up hurt.

For a short while he fights against total surrender, worried about the impact of his untimely disintegration on her. The previous night’s events replay through his mind once more and his limbs twitch awkwardly. Yet she presses kiss after kiss into his hair. Allowing himself to be cradled, his chest finally loosens and his limbs tremble as they lose their unnatural rigidity.

The feeling of being gently rocked cools the remaining embers until even their glow is extinguished. As Finn gently moves himself back to face her, his fingers run in confusion down his wet cheeks. Rae kneels before him, taking both his still clammy hands in hers. She smiles softly, yet not expectantly, at him such that he feels a pressing need to respond, to finish what he had started and not bury the demons once more.

“The second painting.” His voice is croaky and a little unsteady. “I was thinking about the letter when I painted that. It started off at me being angry that I couldn’t do such a simple thing as writing a letter. Then it kind of changed into…” He winces and his eyes close, but she squeezes his hand.

“You know, Kester’s not always right.”  
His eyes widen.

“Asking you to write a letter, well. Funny thing is you found your own way. You found a way of letting it out.”

The levity of her words sinks in slowly as he looks to his feet once more.

“I should have  said something, though. I should have told you, or…”

“Finn. You know as well as I do that there’s no right or wrong way to react to these things. They take time and we have to find our own way.” She shakes his hand gently from side to side and he meets her gaze once more.

“I’m just relieved that you found of way of getting some of that stuff out of you.”

He takes a couple of deep breaths as she continues to talk.

“We’ve both kind of side-lined our sessions with Kester. I know we’ve been busy but maybe we’ve just got our priorities a little wrong, a little out of sync with what we actually need.”

“I feel like such a twat.” He shakes his head. “I mean if I’d actually… maybe if I’d talked to you, maybe if I’d…”

“It is what it is. It’s okay. It’s really okay.” She reaches out and puts a hand on his shoulder.

“But you really needed me today. I mean, after last night and everything. It really shouldn’t be about me. I’m so sorry, girl.”

“Don’t be so pissing daft. We feel how we feel. We can’t help that. I mean, I’m the numpty who ran off into the bloody night last night.” She rolls eyes dramatically.

“Mae.” His tone threatens softly. “You know I don’t mind about that. It were instinct.”

“I know. I know. But it’s just the same as you and that painting.”

“We do have a shed load of shit still, don’t we?”

She nods a little sadly. “But I think we can tackle it all. Bit by bit. Step by step. Day by day.”

“I reckon I should probably start by taking that thing to Kester.”

She nods. “Yeah. And you can damn well tell him that you and writing are not a good mix.” A hint of a smile plays on her lips. “But don’t feel that you have to do it alone. I think… I think that together we have a much better chance of dealing with… with our pasts than.” She swallows the last of her words and has to pause. “Do you have any idea how much you’ve done for me? How incredible you’ve been? How you’ve made things that bit more bearable so that I can actually live my life again?”

His thumb wipes away the tear that rolls down her cheek. “I’d do it again, girl. Time and time again. Just to see that you’re alright.”

“Then you can bloody well accept it when I want to help you.” She bops him on the nose. “There’s nothing shameful about needing help. We all need it sometimes.”

“I suppose.”

“No suppose about it.”

“Yeah, but I’ve got everything I longed for: you, me, a place of our own, art college and…”

“It’s never that simple though. is it?”

He nods thoughtfully. “It has been a lot of change in a short amount of time. Moving in together, both starting new courses, me commuting and that.” He sighs. “I still need to work on my talking though.”

She giggles softly. “A bit maybe. I suppose I do find that a bit easier than you.”

“I don’t think I’ll be turning into you any day soon, Mae. Not sure what the house would be like with two of us constantly…”

“Oi. What you trying to say?” Her nose and mouth crumple upwards.

He can’t supress his grin. “Well you do like to bang on a bit.” He bops her softly on the nose. “But I really like it.”

Suddenly before he really knows what he’s doing his lips her are pressed against hers. “I love you.” His voice has dropped. “Come here.” He holds out his arms.

They collapse backwards into the beanbag and he shuts his eyes, breathing in her scent. He’s a little lightheaded.. Mental and physical exhaustion are quick to kick in once he stops fighting against the tension that he’s been carrying. The world fades away into the scent of her hair and the soft dreamy chords still playing in the background.

The warm water pours down his body, slowly waking him from a slumber that had lasted for far longer than expected. It was dark when he woke - half on the music room floor, covered by their duvet. Rae was reading alongside him. Very quickly he’d become conscious that he needed to wash, sweat from his run mingling with that of fear and emotional exacerbation lingered unpleasantly on his skin.

He runs his hands through his hair, wondering how he had managed to meet someone so patient, so kind and understanding. Someone who doesn’t mind about his broken pieces. Someone who comprehends that he needs his time and space to come to terms with things in his own way. Someone who doesn’t judge. Someone who has helped him accept himself for the man that he is; perfect in his own imperfections.

As his soapy hands reach his abdomen, he looks down to inspect his newest artwork again. It hadn’t taken the past away, it hadn’t stopped the feelings, but it had somehow made him feel better. He runs his fingers across its lines and visions of those days spent with Rae come flooding back in.

It’s hard not think about what might have been, had they not met each other. But this evening, he’s determined that none of that matters, not anymore. The what-ifs will waste precious energy and the little time he has to spend with her before another busy week. His blood runs a little warmer as he recognises that the time together is as important and affirming for her as it is for him.

Yet he can’t quite deny the fear that flutters in his stomach when he thinks of how he could have lost her the previous evening. He thinks he’s probably going to worry about her for the rest of his life and he wonders if it will ever get any easier. Or whether that’s just a part of loving someone?

Once again, he finds that determination and strength within. The one that has seen them thus far. He recalls her words and soothes himself with the fact that together, they can find their way. Together, they can make a life for themselves. A life that is not tethered to the past, but one full of possibilities and hope.

A new kind of courage buds within in him. A courage that comes from the knowledge that they have each faced a crisis point. But this time, it hasn’t destroyed them or pulled them apart. This time, they are learning together, not hiding from who they are.

The shouting on the TV finally gets Rae’s attention and she wonders how much of the drama she’s missed. She looks back down to her fingers, which are still on Finn’s bicep where they have been running in accordance with the exquisite ink on his newly washed skin.

It hadn’t taken much to persuade him to watch TV after the meal she’d cooked. Thankfully it had been one of her better attempts at a fry up: nothing had stuck to the bottom of the pan, she hadn’t burnt the baked beans and she’d even managed to fry an egg without nuking the yoke. Though today, he probably wouldn’t have noticed.

She considers that Finn seems in much better spirits. His head is firmly in her lap, his body relaxed with one arm thrown upwards to trace patterns on her thigh. She’s not sure whether she should be feeling anything or not, but something is slowly warming inside her. Something that seems to be controlling the deliberate movements of her fingers on his skin.

As her fingers move to the super soft skin of his inner arm, she questions the wisdom of this movement and observes him closely. She applies a little more pressure to her strokes and his eyes momentarily flutter shut as he exhales slowly. The second time her fingers make larger sweeping motions up and down his bicep such that his head nestles more firmly in her lap. On the third pass, she takes her time to traverse all the skin from wrist to shoulder. His lips part and he exhales a little shakily.

“Do you, erm… do you like that?” Her voice is almost timid.

“What do you think, Mae?” He sounds confident, self-assured.

“So you wouldn’t mind if I…” Before she’s even finished her sentence, he’s sat up and pulled his t-shirt forward over his head.

When he lies back down, she desists from temptation and focusses her touch solely on the artwork of his arms. She observes almost in disbelief as his breathing becomes shallower and his jaw drops. She continues tracing patterns on his arms, as he wriggles a little and presses back against her touch. When his hips start to twitch, her eyes drop to his groin.

“You really like it, don’t you?” She states rather than questions, trailing a finger up his inner arm.

His pelvis presses up and he opens his eyes. “My body has learnt what comes after it.” He shrugs.

With renewed fervour, she allows the finger of her right hand to move to his abdominal ink, which elicits a groan from his lips. Mesmerised by her own movements, she continues with her own design, laying invisible trails on top of the black of his skin.

His impulsive and instinctual response of flipping himself over and pressing himself firmly into her takes her by surprise. Her mouth forms a perfect O-shape as she detects the irrefutable evidence of his arousal against her thigh. Yet, the tiniest amount of doubt remains.

“You… you sure?”

She looks into his heavy lidded eyes with their dilated pupils.

“I want to.” His voice is gruff. “I need to make love to you, Mae. If you’ll…”

She cuts him off with a kiss. A kiss so intense yet so divine that the world around them stops spinning. As kiss where the past and the future no longer exist.

His nimble fingers are quick to locate and pay homage to her own artwork. Artwork bestowed out of love by those very hands. His movements are slow, deliberate and affirming, and are followed by his warm, moist lips.

As they find each other once more, the wind picks up again outside in the dark night, causing Myrtle to crash through the cat flap. But all they can hear is each other: ever more rapid breaths, gasps and soft moans mixed in with loving nonsense and endearments. The dimness of the room disperses slowly until nothing but the light of each other remains.


End file.
